A Monster's Ball
by tarheelveteran
Summary: A Navy prisoner has escaped and vows revenge on those who put him away. Meanwhile, Harm, Mac, and the CSI Miami team are unaware of the danger. A special surprise lurks for one of them.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of CSI Miami or JAG. I own only my O/C Emmie Stockburne**

**A/N: This is the second in my Ryan/Emmie Series.**

* * *

**Prologue**

Ramstein Air Base, Germany, 2200 hours

The huge green and brown military air terminal was alive with activity, even at the late hour. The pouring rain that was so common in northern Germany had caused flights to be delayed or cancelled. As a result, the waiting areas and checkout lines were a sea of white, brown, gray, green and black uniforms who stood, chatted, read, hugged loved ones, or slept on their baggage with their headgear over their eyes, just as they had done many times while waiting for the next leg of previous journeys. Some closed their eyes and nodded their heads while listening to IPods, buried their faces in magazines, or talked vividly about going home to their loved ones, mostly to pass the time away while shadows of huge aircraft stood still outside in the wet darkness, also waiting.

A dark blue van quietly slowed to a stop at the side of the terminal, well away from the crowds. Two Navy shore patrol officers in their black uniforms stepped out carefully, flanking their prisoner who, except for his silver manacles and leg irons, really could have blended in with the tired, noisy uniformed crowd. Instead of looking around or up at the rainy nighttime sky, he quietly kept his face down, letting the rain run off his headgear.

"Face down, Sailor. Keep moving!" a shore patrol said firmly, taking his elbow and helping him step down to the sidewalk.

The man showed no expression as he shuffled his feet only as far as the silver leg irons would allow while his escorts walked slowly on either side of him, eyes darting about, completely wary of their surroundings. They knew they had a high-risk prisoner, and they would be taking no chances.

One guard punched in the door code and pulled it open, his hand firmly on his firearm, as the other walked warily behind the shuffling prisoner, not even shaking himself off from the night rain, leaving a trail of water behind them while walking slowly down the quiet, echoing hallway.

The other guard picked up the radio from his holster and held it to his mouth while still watching his surroundings. "SP Cullen, clear of first doorway, have prisoner Logan in terminal. Over" he stated.

"Copy. Affirmative. Proceed to side security desk for flight check-in. Over." a voice squawked back to him.

"This is SP Cullen. Copy. Out." With that he reholstered his radio, eager to keep his hands free as much as possible.

The guards diligently shuffled their prisoner up to the gray checkout desk where a uniformed clerk dutifully looked at a computer terminal. "ID and orders."

One guard, then the other, handed their military ID cards to the clerk, followed by their travel orders. The man dutifully clicked the keys to the computer. "Okay. Prisoner escort to Lambert Airfield, continuing to Leavenworth. Let's see." He watched as the screens changed and reflected back into his glasses. He shook his head. "That flight's been delayed. Takeoff isn't scheduled until 0115 at this point. Depends on how soon the storm lets up."

The guard raised his eyebrows. "We have a high-security transport! Why didn't anybody tell us about this?"

The clerk shook his head in bewilderment. "I don't know."

The guard huffed and put his hand on his weapon a little nervously. "We're supposed to be last on, first off. We can't wait that long!"

His companion looked at him over the prisoner, who just kept his head down. "We're gonna have to, man."

The check-in clerk clicked the black keyboard again, quickly glancing at the ID cards and travel orders that lay on the desk beside him. "I have you checked in. Sorry about the screw-up."

The guard shook his head, obviously not happy about the sudden change in plans. "Somebody better call Mannheim and let them know what's going on. We were supposed to be told about this!"

The guards escorted the shuffling prisoner to the high-security waiting area while one picked up his radio and held it to his mouth again. "Yeah, Headquarters? SP Milligan. Just received word that 2300 to Logan Airfield is on hold until 0115. Proceeding with prisoner to secure waiting area. Standing by for further instructions. Over."

"Headquarters. Proceed to waiting area. All air traffic is on hold until further notice. Secure waiting area should be sufficient. Copy. Out."

The secure waiting area had no windows of any kind. It was designed with prisoner transport in mind. The bleak upholstered black couches were designed so that two guards could sit on either side of a prisoner. Couches were pushed against the wall and far enough apart to prevent any kind of chatting among prisoners. The guards seated the shuffling prisoner between them. He continued to look down at his silver manacles.

"Need to use the bathroom" he said to the floor quietly.

SP Cullen nodded to SP Milligan. "Keep your head down."

Both guards accompanied the shuffling prisoner to a plain brown door. Milligan waited and held the brown door open while Cullen accompanied his shuffling prisoner in. Milligan closed the door and waited in accordance with procedure. Even though the room was quiet and locked, he listened warily for anything that might look or sound unusual.

Milligan stiffened up when he heard a sudden crash and an agonized scream on the other side of the door. He immediately tried to push the door open. It wouldn't budge.

"Cullen! You okay?"

No answer. He heard no other sounds behind the door.

Milligan took no chances as he immediately grabbed his radio. "Headquarters! SP Milligan! We have an SP dangerous situation! Request immediate lockdown of Ramstein! Suspect prisoner escape! Verify!" He didn't wait for an answer as he held his other hand on his weapon and threw his shoulder against the door. He could now hear the low-pitched screams he recognized as SP Cullen on the other side.

His breathing deepened. "Cullen!"

The door still would not open.

Milligan picked up his radio again. "Headquarters! SP Milligan! Suspect prisoner escape! Request immediate assistance at the Ramstein Terminal! Over!" He felt his breathing deepen and his heart race as he threw his shoulder against the door again. Finally the door flew open, letting him fall inside.

The tiny bathroom was completely dark. The overhead fluorescent light had been smashed and had rained down on the gray-tile floor and now lay about like glistening snowflakes in the secondhand light. His partner was on the floor in the middle of the white debris, quaking in his spreading blood, gasping, moaning, and holding his neck. Milligan fell to his knees and held the door open with his boot to let the light in. The shuffling prisoner was nowhere to be found. He bent down to take a closer look in the faint light while the shadows of Cullen's frantic eyes looked up at him.

"Move your hand!" Milligan yanked Cullen's hand away to reveal something that looked like a metal tent stake that had been shoved into his jugular vein. Blood now pulsed out on either side, forming a black pond on the dark tile floor. To no avail, Milligan frantically pulled off his raincoat and pressed it against his partner's neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Milligan's eyes darted about for any sign of their prisoner while he yanked out his radio, not even thinking about anything else at this point. "Headquarters! We have an SP down! Repeat! SP down! Immediate assistance! Lockdown of Ramstein terminal! Prisoner is assumed to be armed and dangerous!" he bellowed between frantic breaths. He then dropped his radio on the floor with a crack as he tried to stop his partner's wound from bleeding anymore, to no avail.

The next time the SP looked down at his partner, he was met with lifeless, vacant eyes and an open mouth. Blood still flowed from his neck, more slowly now, pooling around him and around his radio. He grit his teeth and bowed his head for a few seconds. He kept his head bowed as he held his dead partner's blood-soaked hand, listening to the sound of wailing sirens outside the thick walls, indicating that Ramstein Air Terminal had gone on lockdown. "I'm sorry, man" he whispered to the SP's dark, vacant eyes. He knew that his partner never really had a chance.

As Milligan caught his breath, he looked around in the darkness. The gray-tiled bathroom still looked the same, except for the snowflakes and the spreading black pool that, just a few minutes earlier, was that of his partner. It just seemed as though their prisoner had never even existed. On his knees, he closed his eyes as the sirens blared and the thunder cracked.


	2. Her Handsome Prince

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 1—Her Handsome Prince**

"Upstrokes on the letter have been forcefully elongated, with heavier emphasis at the top of the primary letters. This indicates that the writer was under some form of emotional duress" she said expressionlessly into her black transcriber, never taking her eyes off the handwriting sample that Ryan Wolfe had given her. "Period. Paragraph. Conclusion. It is my finding that Richard Stevenson wrote his own suicide note. There is no indication that he was forced to do so. Period. Paragraph. Respectfully submitted, Emmalyn P Stockburne, Senior Cybertechnician, Miami-Dade Crime Lab, Employee ID number 239528. End of transcription." With that she clicked off her transcriber and tucked it into her lab coat pocket.

Cynthia Wells, the document tech, was on medical leave. Meanwhile, the City of Miami had found itself thrust onto the nationwide stage by hosting the VIP Gala. Members of the Senate, Congress, judges, attorneys, and the usual throng of attention-seekers had swarmed Miami for the week. As a result, the Miami-Dade Crime Police Department was now stretched almost to their breaking point in the name of politics. All available armed officers, to include CSI's, had been snatched up for anything from security detail to motorcade escort. Meanwhile, Senior Cybertechnician Emmie Stockburne now worked twelve-hour shifts, working in her other capacities, in order to take up the slack. Not only was she overseeing the computer lab at this point, but she also interpreted findings for handwriting and documents. It had been a while, but she was starting to get the hang of it again.

Emmie stood up from her chair, arched her back, and stretched her arms just as Horatio walked tiredly into the lab. She turned to him. "Hey Sir."

He looked around thoughtfully at the stacks of filing that needed to be done. She saw his wandering eyes. "Sorry about that. We'll do filing as soon as we can. I've pushed as much onto night shift as I can, and I think they're ready to infect my laptop."

He put up his hand. "That's okay." He sighed matter-of-factly. "Ready to play some politics?"

"They're not gonna let me get my work done, are they?"

"Of course not. Like it or not, you're a celebrity here."

She looked at the ceiling. "So no chance I can just be a normal human being and keep the caseload from getting away?"

"You're a Stockburne. That'll never happen. This is why you were handpicked. Want me to go with you?"

Emmie put up her hand. "No thanks, Sir. We're all busy. Although I admit I'm a little curious who my blind date is gonna be."

"You mean your official escort?"

"I was kidding. Believe me, I know what I'm up against." Emmie Stockburne tiredly peeled off her powder blue labcoat and looked at her watch. "Although between you and me, Sir, I sure wish you could be the one."

He smiled and looked down. "I'd enjoy that too, but I'll be on call here that weekend. With all those VIP's and officials, the Miami-Dade PD is gonna be on high alert until this is all over."

"I understand, Sir. Well, one more week of this, and then back to what passes for normal." She straightened her collar and fluffed her hair with her fingers. "Guess it's time go to find out who my mystery date is and smile for the cameras. See you later, Sir."

* * *

"For the next part of our meeting, there's the matter of the VIP Gala. First of all, as you know, Miss Emmalyn Stockburne, who works as the head of Cybertechnology here in the Crime Lab, has been chosen to represent the Miami-Dade PD. As a goodwill gesture, the Department has gone through a screening process to select a suitable escort for Miss Stockburne for that big night." The Commissioner turned his voice toward the back of the room where she had slipped in earlier. "Miss Stockburne, would you come up here, please? Ladies and gentlemen, Emmalyn Stockburne."

Emmie smiled and dipped her head in a slight bow, waving politely to the light applause as she walked up the aisle of the Miami-Dade auditorium. Despite her tiredness, she felt her temperature rise with anticipation as she stood at the wooden lectern next to the tall, commanding, uniformed man who was Miami-Dade's County's Police Commissioner.

He shook her hand cordially and smiled to her as he tipped his face toward the mike. She looked into his eyes somewhat nervously while holding her hands together.

"Miss Stockburne, first of all, congratulations on being chosen to represent our department at the VIP Gala. We know you'll do an excellent job. I have to say that when we opened up the opportunity for some lucky police officer to be your official escort, we had no idea you were so popular."

She smiled. "Neither did I, Sir."

"It was a long process and a difficult decision for us to make. From over two hundred applications and interviews, we finally chose the officer would make a suitable escort for you on that big night. This gentleman would have the responsibility of representing both you as well as Miami. He will be your guide, your companion, and, if necessary, your shield and protector. He also understands the politics involved, as I'm sure you do. Above all, we tried to choose someone we knew you would feel comfortable with." The Commissioner then grinned. "And I can assure you he's better looking than I am!"

"Well, I don't know about that, Sir!" Emmie said as she smiled among the laughter from the audience. She breathed deeply as that moment neared.

"On top of that, we thought we'd surprise you by keeping his identity under wraps until this moment. I'm sure you've been wondering all morning now?"

She tilted her head with a smile. "Maybe a little bit, Sir. Lieutenant Caine has had me pretty busy."

"Now bear in mind. We've heard from over two hundred gentlemen from all areas of the Miami-Dade Police Department. This included patrol officers, crime scene investigators, and even some of the top Brass. It was a very difficult decision. I might add that the County will be providing VIP limousine service for you and your escort that evening, so even if the two of you don't hit it off, at least you'll have a TV set and free drinks."

The tall, poised computer tech pursed her lips and dipped her head in anticipation while still trying to look official. She quickly envisioned a rugged, handsome police officer in a medal-encrusted uniform escorting her in her flowing red ball gown. She would take his strong, confident arm, and he would lead her proudly. He would slow dance with her close to him. Maybe he would take her for a stroll in that flowery garden in the dark. Maybe he would hold her gloved hand and look into her eyes. Maybe he would even try to steal a kiss. She started to smile shyly.

The Commissioner now directed his attention toward the auditorium. "Without further delay, Miss Stockburne, I give you your official escort for the VIP Gala. From the Bureau of Internal Affairs, Sergeant Rick Stetler, would you come up here, please?"

In an instant, that shy, anticipating smile disappeared. For a moment it was as though someone had rammed a stake through her heart. Emmie caught her breath so she wouldn't utter a profanity or put her hand over her face in disappointment. Not while everyone was looking.

_Oh, crap. How could they do this to me?_

Amid applause from the auditorium, IAB sergeant Rick Stetler stepped up from the audience confidently with that smile of his, never taking his eyes off her. He stood next to her at the podium. "Emmie" he whispered, looking down at her. "Surprised?"

"You can't begin to imagine, Sir" she whispered sarcastically while maintaining that polite smile.

The Commissioner stood back and put his hands together to motion them into position. "Can we get a picture of the happy couple? Miss Stockburne, would you please get in close and take Sergeant Stetler's arm for the picture?"

Emmie managed to hold a gracious smile for the sea of flashbulbs as she stood next to her gloating escort and politely hooked her right hand under his elbow. He held his head up and smiled proudly as he stood uncomfortably close to her, reveling in his moment of glory. She'd rather break his arm, she thought.

"Who'd you suck up to, Sir?" she said to him through her teeth. He didn't answer.

Though she had been able to force a smile for the presentation, the computer tech walked sullenly for what seemed miles back to the computer lab. She glanced at the printed schedule the Commissioner had given her and huffed. The County required her to meet with Rick for private "grooming" sessions so that they would be properly prepared for this.

* * *

Horatio watched his senior computer tech walk angrily into the lab and snatch her lab coat off its hook.

"I take it you're not thrilled with the Department's choice?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Sir, any idea whose decision this was?"

"Why don't you tell me who they paired you with?"

She looked at him and smirked. "None other than our favorite IAB."

"Stetler?"

She narrowed her eyes and dug her nails into the back of her chair. "Applications and interview process? Bull crap! Oh, and it gets better. I have to spend a couple of hours a week with him getting ready for this thing. I apologize, Sir, but that was a huge letdown."

Her boss nodded empathetically. "We can discuss this later. Why don't you make some more of your field coffee? Frank just drank the last of it before he went out on security detail."

She smiled tiredly at the Lieutenant. "Sorry, Sir. I knew you were just trying to cheer me up."

He touched her desk as he walked out. "To be continued, Emmie. And try to get some of that filing done."


	3. Cross Jurisdiction

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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**Chapter 2—Cross-Jurisdiction**

Homestead Air Force Base, Florida, 0600 hours

The two Air Force security officers watched dutifully from the bug-splattered windows of the blue pickup truck as they drove along the lonely perimeter road. For the past week the night shift had given them a merciful break from the Florida heat, but now the monster was starting to come back and threatened to overtake them as the rising sun penetrated the smeared windshield. Both young men scanned the tall weeds and barbed perimeter fence on either side.

"Supposed to be hot again today" the young passenger said as he stared out the fogging window of his patrol car at the endless grassland. "I'll be so glad when this thing's over. This damned AC doesn't work, does it? Can't wait to get home and get these boots off."

The driver wiped perspiration off his forehead and held his hand over the black ventilator on the worn, scratched dashboard. "Nah, this thing hasn't worked since God was a corporal. I swear they must've gave us an Army truck and painted it blue. Hey, did I tell you? My son's pretty excited about the air show next weekend, though. Kind of makes you wonder what the hell these guys do in Washington that they can drag this thing out for two weeks."

"It's a drill to make sure they can work out of another location. Either that or DC just wasn't hot enough for them. Well, hey. It's time to head back. Turn this thing over. The next shift better be in there when we get back. I'm tired, and Linda's getting ticked off with me doing these double shifts."

His passenger suddenly stiffened up and his eyes widened. "Hey, you see that, man?" He pointed to the left.

"See what?"

"Slow down. Something out there."

The dark blue pickup truck slowed to a stop. "Yeah. You're right. It's on the other side of the fence, though." Normally he would not have cared, but this didn't look like the usual garbage dump out in the middle of nowhere. Even though he was tired, he had a nagging feeling that this was something else. "I'm gonna take a look."

"Hey man" his partner protested. "Don't you want to go back? We're tired, remember? Leave it for the next shift."

The security patrol paid no attention. "Nah, I think we better check this out. 'Sides, if they find out we missed this on our shift, you know there'll be hell to pay."

The other guard waved his hand. "Yeah, you're right. Better just be a dead alligator or something."

He pushed the creaky blue door open and stood up at the pavement's edge, craning his neck. "But I'm not going off the pavement. They've had alligators out here."He peered over the grass while holding onto the creaking blue door. Next to the fence he could barely see something that shone in the morning sunlight. Something looked like black, white, and then black, with limbs. He simply froze and stared for several seconds, waiting for the reality to set in. He cursed under his breath.

"What is it?" his partner wanted to know.

His eyes widened, and he whipped his head around to his partner. "Hey, that's a body! Call it in!"

* * *

Horatio was almost knee-deep in the dew-soaked sawgrass that stained the legs of his gray slacks. He stood with hands on hips, his sunglasses facing the glaring morning sun. His eyes then scanned the coiled barbed wire that seemed to curl forever in either direction. Other than the crime scene itself, nothing looked out of place.

Frank Tripp stepped carefully through the wet sawgrass, watching each step. "Two Air Force security guards called it in. They were on perimeter patrol. That's when the base commander contacted us."

"Yes, but I get the feeling this didn't happen on the air force base, Frank" Horatio noted.

The DB was the only are in which nobody had to wade. Detective Tripp stood next to him, hands on hips, glancing at the body. "Name's Bill Schwender. Army captain. Military judge. Can definitely rule out robbery. Guy had everything on him. Wallet, military ID, even dog tags. How many of these guys travel with their dog tags in civilian clothes, Horatio? Made him easy to ID, at least. Can't say where he's from, but he was probably here for the VIP exercise."

Calleigh stood off to the side and carefully snapped pictures of the disturbed sawgrass. Horatio approached her.

"Calleigh. Find anything along these drag marks?"

She stepped carefully and motioned with her gloved hand. "Whoever dumped Judge Schwender didn't look like they put a whole lot of effort into it. Had to look carefully, but I found footprints along the same trail where the body was dragged. Judge Schwender doesn't look very heavy, but this grass is pretty rugged." She looked at the trail again thoughtfully. "Because it's so rugged, it's almost impossible to get a good footprint cast."

The Lieutenant walked carefully up to the fencing through the dewy grass and the soft dirt. Our killer definitely knew how to cover his tracks. He motioned toward an unevenness in the gray chain links by the post. "Looks like whoever dumped our judge cut the fencing by the post so we wouldn't see it right away." With a gloved hand he ran his hand along the severed links. "A clean cut in the middle panel of the chain link fence would've been obvious. This also gave our killer time to get away unnoticed."

"Yeah, and dumping a body on a military base, no matter where he was murdered? Makes it a federal case" Frank explained. "So now the Command has to get involved. Bureaucratic nightmare."

"In fact, IAB contacted the base commander and CID" Horatio informed them. "They've agreed to let us gather evidence until they can get the NCIS forensics team out here. Right now we can't even interview the guards who spotted this."

"NCIS" Calleigh noted. "All these big wigs in town, and they can't get a forensics team out here?"

"Like Frank said, Calleigh." Horatio looked toward the buildings off in the distance. "Bureaucratic nightmare. Find anything else?"

"I did take a soil sample of one of the footprints" Calleigh said as she bottled samples. "Maybe it'll tell us where our killer's been. And maybe even where Judge Schwender was before he was murdered. I also noticed this, Horatio. Smell it?"

Horatio came up and sampled the air on the man's polo shirt. "Hm. Cigars. High-end ones at that. With all the VIP's in town, the officers' club is probably selling these by the box."

Alexx waited patiently until Calleigh and Horatio had collected any evidence before she could examine the judge. The ME also wiped perspiration from her forehead with her wrist and swung her ponytail away from her glistening shoulder as she knelt down to take a closer look at the County's newest homicide.

The man was ashen by now, in comparison to his black, closely-shorn hair. He wore a dark blue polo shirt and black slacks which were now dampened and smeared from being dragged through the grass and Florida swamp dirt. His eyes were closed peacefully. Except for his pallor, he looked as though he were merely taking a nap. He lay on his side and was now as completely dew-soaked as his surroundings. His brown-rimmed glasses had fallen halfway off his face and lay with the lenses down in the grass. He was a tall, thin man who didn't look as rugged as most of the soldiers and sailors she had seen. He certainly looked like he'd spent more time in a courtroom than on a jogging trail. "I'm gonna have to take the judge back to the lab to find out what happened" Alexx said, looking up at Horatio and Frank. "But I did see these marks on his neck. Not sure what caused them." She motioned toward the base of the man's skull, under his left ear, where she had noticed a purplish blotch about the size of a nickel. "No immediate signs of asphyxiation or blunt-force trauma. No bruises or foaming around his nose or mouth." Carefully she turned Judge Schwnder's head to the right. But it looks like something had a hold of him right here. His eyes were closed, so it looks like he died slowly. The bruise is right over one of the cranial nerves and the jugular vein. Right where the nerve comes out of the foramen."

Horatio reholstered his cell phone as he peered down. "TOD?"

Alexx looked up at him as she wiped her forehead again with her wrist. "I'd say between midnight and three in the morning."

Frank Tripp pointed toward the field on the opposite side. "I wonder if our security guards on the other side noticed that?"

Horatio held his cell phone in front of him as he scanned the grass again. "The drag marks go clear back to the perimeter road on the other side. Frank, that's a good thirty feet on either side of the fence. Somebody went through a lot of trouble here."

"Yeah. But check this out. The cut on the fence only goes about three feet high. He ducked down low when he dragged this guy in. Somebody knew how to make this hard for us."

"That's true, Frank." Horatio looked up as he donned his sunglasses. "There's no sitting on the fence about this one. This was a brutal murder."


	4. Suspicions

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 3-Suspicions**

Miami-Dade Crime Lab, Florida, 0900 hours

Lt Col Sarah MacKenzie perused her notes as she waited patiently in the visitors' area. Admiral Chegwidden's office had emailed her document about any case that had the same MO. So far this matched only the KAF case. Things looked hauntingly familiar.

She looked up and a smile crossed her face when she saw spotted a familiar figure.

Emmie smiled at her old acquaintance. "Mac? Oh my God! Great to see you!"

The petite Marine stood up to hug her old acquaintance. "Emmie Stockburne! How are you?" The two ladies held each other in an embrace for a few seconds.

Emmie backed off and looked at Mac. "Look at you! Lieutenant Colonel! So you in town for this dog-and-pony show?"

Mac smiled and nodded. "Yeah. I didn't know I was a VIP too. Harm is gonna fly down later in the week. Well, maybe you better let me know what's going on with Judge Schwender."

The computer tech nodded. "I'll take you over to the autopsy room. Dr. Woods is briefing my boss right now." She looked at Mac with more serious eyes now. "Mac, do you think this has anything to do with the KAF case?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I thought they got rid of those guys. Hey, you want some coffee? Lieutenant Caine put me on coffee detail for the day shift."

Mac shook her head with a laugh. "No, thanks. I remember your coffee. When A.J. told me about Logan's escape—"

"_What?"_

"Afraid so." Mac looked at her seriously again. "Happened when they were escorting him from Ramstein. Killed one of the SP's. NCIS in Europe is on that one right now. Did you know Art Logan?"

"I'd heard of him. You know the Navy SEAL community is pretty close. We really didn't talk about it much, because, well, they don't talk about traitors at all."

Mac stood next to Horatio and watched down through the morgue's viewing area. "COD, Alexx?" he asked into the mike.

The ME looked up. "Officially? Asphyxiation. Blood was cut off from the brain. Pressure on the cranial nerves also shut down his respiration." She paused and looked down at the newest case. "Horatio, I've never seen anything like this." Mac had her eyes glued to the viewing room's monitor as Alexx carefully turned the pale body's head and directed their attention to the left side of the neck. "Remember those marks at the base of his skull? The carotid artery, the jugular vein, and the vagus nerve all intersect in this area. Not only did this cut off blood flow to his brain, but his lungs were shut down. Never had a chance."

"He couldn't breathe, and most importantly, he couldn't scream for help. But that had to be a lot of pressure, Alexx."

"These were the only marks I could find. I measured the distance and shape of the bruises, and it looks to be a finger and thumb print. That kind of pressure would take about two minutes for him to die." Alexx then caressed the judge's matted black hair. "It didn't end quickly for you, Your Honor."

Horatio turned to Mac. "Is any of this familiar to you, Colonel MacKenzie?"

Mac held out some old NCIS crime scene photos. It sent a chill through her to see this happen again. "Same M.O., Lieutenant. All five of his victims killed that same way. It's a lesser-known Navy SEAL tactic. No weapons. Victim dies slowly. Officially? The practice is highly illegal. Unofficially? It's still widely used in remote jungle warfare, usually when there are no weapons available. It also makes good psyops, or psychological operations in that it sends a message to the enemy."

The Lieutenant nodded. "Yes. No weapons, no DNA left behind." He looked more fully at Mac now. "Colonel MacKenzie, why do you have reason to believe Arthur Logan might be in the Miami area?"

"Well, Horatio, he's been in the wind since he escaped from Ramstein. He has acquaintances here in the Miami area, especially with KAF."

"KAF?"

"It stands for 'Keep America Free.' It's an anarchist group very similar to the Freemen that had the standoff in Montana some years ago. Logan was high on their food chain. We believe he murdered five people this way, but we could only tie him to the assistant U.S. Attorney who was found dead in Mobile, Alabama. Not enough evidence to tie him to the other four. And what concerns us right now is that Bill Schwender heard the case. He swore Logan would take his dying breath in prison."

"I see. So if Arthur Logan is in Miami, do you think he'll be after anyone else?"

"Let's just say this. We JAG's talk. Arthur Logan is a firm believer in revenge, especially his own. If I'm right about this, Horatio, Miami's gonna have a much bigger problem than babysitting a bunch of high-maintenance politicians."

* * *

JAG Headquarter, Falls Church, VA 1600 Zulu

Commander Harmon Rabb stood next to his desk and probed feverishly through the mountains of folders as Lieutenant Bud Roberts strolled in.

"Looking for something, Harm?" Bud wanted to know.

He looked at the Lieutenant expectantly. "Yeah. The Wilson case. Pretrial is at 1400, and I don't have the case file." He motioned to the folders under Bud's arm. "Did you borrow it?"

"Yeah. I had to review it." He pulled out the folder and laid it on top of the tallest stack. Both Harm and Bud lunged at the pile as it tipped and landed on the floor with a CRASH! Harm glared at him as he sank to his knees to quickly sort out the mess. "Thanks."

"Sorry!" Bud looked at him ruefully as he quickly stooped over and helped him. "Oh, here it is."

Harm reached his hand out, exasperated. "Let me have it." He suddenly stiffened up. "Attention on deck!" Harm and Bud immediately shot to the position of attention.

"As you were."

Admiral A.J. Chegwidden stepped into the office and looked down at the sea of folders. "Harm. Bud. Been busy?"

Harm and Bud relaxed. "Just a little, Sir."

"Need to talk to you in my office, Harm."

As he turned to leave, Harm glanced down at Bud. "Don't touch those. I'll get them when I come back."

A.J. sighed as both of them sat down. "Harm? Just got a notice from Ramstein. Logan's still in the wind."

Harm nodded. "The KAF case?"

"Yep. I received word that an SP Cullen was in charge of his transport to Leavenworth. He was killed in the men's room at Ramsteins' prisoner holding area. Somebody busted out the light and shoved a metal shank into his neck. SP Milligan was standing guard. He heard the commotion and had trouble getting the door open. By the time he got into the men's room, it was too late. Cullen bled out. No sign of Logan anywhere. Nothing. We suspect it was an inside job, that some of his buddies crawled up through a duct and along the ceiling joists to get down into the men's room and back out in a hurry, Logan following him. My guess is that Cullen never saw what happened. NCIS Europe is working the forensics now. Since our office has ties to the KAF case, they alerted us." He sighed and gathered his thoughts. "There's more. I just got off the phone with Mac down in Miami. She just spoke with a Lieutenant Horatio Caine. She's worried that Arthur Logan or one of his cohorts could possibly be at work in Miami right now. Ends up Captain Bill Schwender was found murdered somewhere in Miami, but the SP's found him inside the perimeter fence of Homestead yesterday morning. I guess their commander got word and called Mac down there to investigate."

Harm looked down in shock. "Bill Schwender? Didn't he hear Logan's case?"

A.J. nodded. "I still remember it. Swore Logan would never see the light of day again. Logan swore one day he would get even."

"How do they know it was a KAF murder, Sir?"

A.J. motioned to the left side of his neck. "There were the same marks on the base of Bill Schwender's neck that we found on Logan's victims."

"With all due respect, Sir, how can we be sure Logan's in Miami? We put all of them away."

"Not all of them. Anyway, we found out your old Quantico liaison to the Cyber Crimes unit is working in Miami. Remember Emmie Stockburne?"

Harm smiled. "I sure do. So she's in Miami now, huh? Small world."

A.J. nodded. "She's now the senior computer tech at the Miami-Dade Crime Lab. She'll be Mac's and your contact when you go down there. And if anything good came out of all this, you and Mac are going to this VIP conference on Uncle Sam's dime, because it just turned into TAD. They're cutting your orders now. You fly down there tomorrow morning."

Harm nodded. "I'll take care of it, Sir."

"And Harm? Work with Lieutenant Caine. Body was found inside the perimeter fence, but there's evidence that he wasn't killed there. That makes it Miami's case too."

Harm turned around and saluted AJ. "I'll take care of it, Sir."


	5. Dangerous Liaison

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**A/N: A special thanks to HARMYSINGS for the reviews. **

* * *

**Chapter 4—Dangerous Liaison**

The Silver Palm Resort and Spa, one of Miami's most upscale hotels, was just as busy during the conference. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched a sea of well-dressed travelers walk through with their rollaway suitcases or valets pushing carts as she relaxed on the red and gold sofa in the lobby. The short, stocky woman thumbed idly through a Miami tourism book as she smoothed her shoulder-length black wavy hair back off her shoulders and adjusted her white summer dress.

"Evening, Audrey" a soft male voice said behind her.

The woman turned around and stood up, smiling. "Hi Steve. Ready to go?"

The rugged, charming man with short blonde hair smiled back at her confidently. He adjusted his burgundy dress shirt. "All set. Thanks for driving me."

"I hope the Homestead Officers' Club sounds good. They're opening it to all ranks and civilians while this thing is going on."

He nodded. "Sure. I really don't know my way around Miami."

It was completely dark when the green Dodge Stratus slowed to a stop at the brightly lighted main gate of Homestead Air Force Base. Steve quietly handed Audrey his white civilian ID card. The young gate guard inspected both identification cards before looking carefully at the car's occupants. Satisfied, he handed Audrey both cards. "Have a nice evening" he said cordially.

"Thanks." The woman handed Steve back his civilian ID card, which he immediately pocketed. Audrey quickly slipped hers back into her black purse under her seat.

"So how long have you been a medical liaison, Steve?" she asked as she turned down the side road.

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Few years now. They have me at Landstuhl. Ever been there?"

She chuckled. "Nope. Actually spent most of my time in Fantasyland. The Pentagon."

The man settled back in his seat and sighed. "Bureaucrats. Gotta love 'em. So how long have you been out of the Navy, Audrey?"

The woman shrugged with a smile. "Only a year now."

The man discreetly scanned the car's black interior and glanced in the rear view mirror. "So how do you like the U.S. Attorney's Office?"

Audrey nodded confidently. "It's good. I can still get into places like this."

Steve smiled back and nodded confidently.

Now the stocky woman seemed to study her passenger from the mirror.

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry, Steve. I don't know, but….You look a little familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before?"

The man smiled. "Well, they say everybody has a Doppelganger."

She nodded more confidently. "I guess you're right. Just seems like I've seen you before."

The green car meandered through the dimly lighted park and had come to a stop sign by the side of the lake. Audrey quickly glanced down at the gauge on the dashboard. There were no other cars in sight.

Without a word, the man calmly leaned toward her and, in one quick, smooth motion, slammed the car's transmission into park with one hand and snaked his left arm around her neck, yanking her to his chest and digging his thumb firmly against her neck just under her ear. At first the surprise paralyzed her, but then the force of the man's strong thumb between her neck and jaw line was enough to keep her pinned to him. Barely able to move her arms and legs, she tried to squirm in the seat in an effort to get away. No use. The man calmly held her head to his chest, tightening the pressure of his thumb into her neck, moving his body with her. She couldn't breathe or scream.

"Don't fight it, Audrey. It hurts worse if you fight it" he said calmly, looking forward through the windshield, his peripheral vision scanning the mirrors. "It'll be over quickly if you just go with it."

Panic turned into blind terror. In the rear view mirror Audrey could see her wide eyes and her mouth open, but something forbade her to scream or even react. Her lips quaked as she lost all sense of reality. Her ears rang. Pain now shot up and down her neck, followed by tingling, warmness, and then numbness. Her head dropped as she slowly closed her eyes and her body went limp like a rag doll.

Satisfied that Audrey was dead, Steve stepped out of the passenger side. He grabbed Audrey's lifeless arm and leg and pulled her over, positioning her, straightening her white dress, buckling the seatbelt, and tilting her head to the side as though she had simply passed out. He then quickly took the small bottle of Chloraseptic out of his pocket and pried open the dead woman's mouth, spritzing twice before closing her mouth and turning her lifeless head to lean back against the window. She looked as though she had merely drunk too much and passed out. That was the intention.

Steve quickly and quietly walked around to the other side and settled into the driver's seat. He put the transmission back into drive and pulled away nonchalantly. Out of the corner of his eyes he glanced at the dead woman. With one hand he then rummaged through her black purse, pulled out her civilian identification card, and placed it on her lifeless lap. He glanced around in the darkness one more time. The only sounds he heard were the frogs and crickets.

"I told you I'd get even, Audrey. Didn't believe me, did you?" he finally whispered to the dead woman. "You're the crappiest defense lawyer I've ever seen."

* * *

"Guys on four-wheelers called it in." Ryan Wolfe stood at a distance and snapped pictures while Harm Rabb watched anxiously. The green Dodge Stratus sat along the dirt road, surrounded by sawgrass.

Eric Delko snapped on his latex gloves before slowly opening the passenger side door. "Purse is behind the driver's seat. Can rule out robbery. Don't see any gunshot wounds or any blunt-forced trauma." He then scanned the road and the sawgrass. "No tracks or prints anywhere. Killer sure knew how to cover his tracks."

Harm sweated in the balmy Florida dawn as he stood behind Delko. "Don't let this be Audrey" he nearly whispered.

Delko looked in the dead woman's lap. His eyes confirmed Harm's worst fears as he produced the identification card that lay there. "Audrey Hennessey?"

Harm closed his eyes in anguish. "Dammit!"

"You knew her?"

"I assigned the Logan case to her. She defended him." He sighed and looked at her closed eyes. "I'm sorry, Audrey."

Delko lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, man."

Harm closed his eyes. "We're really close in the JAG field. She wasn't just a colleague. She was a friend of ours. All she could do was get the lightest sentence possible, which was one count of murder." He sighed. "So we definitely have motive. Somebody close to KAF."

"Check this out" Ryan said as he snapped pictures. "Her dress is tucked to the left around her arms and legs. Her legs are leaning toward the transmission."

"Somebody moved her" Delko noted. "She was probably driving. Harm, do you know anybody she would have driven with?"

Harm shook his head.

With his gloved hand Delko bagged and tagged the ID card. "Gonna try and get something off this."

As Ryan prepared to snap pictures of Audrey in the passenger side seat, he sniffed the air. "You smell alcohol?"

Delko looked at him and nodded. "Yeah."

Harm looked at them quizzically. "Alcohol?"

"Yeah. You suppose she was out drinking with somebody?"

The Commander shook his head. "Audrey's a staunch Mormon. She doesn't smoke or drink." He lowered his eyes. "That is, she didn't."

Ryan nodded to Delko. "Have Alexx work up a tox panel." He stiffened up as his eyes noticed something shiny behind the driver's seat. "Wait. Something else back there." With his gloved hand he carefully reached behind the driver's seat and pulled out what looked like a white identification card. He glanced at it. "Steven MacPherson?"

Harm looked at him. "I don't know him. Hang on." Harm opened his cell phone and pressed the speed dial. "Emmie? It's Harm. Need a favor. You at your computer right now? Great. What can you tell me about a Steven MacPherson? Civilian out of the Landstuhl Army Medical Center in Germany?"

Emmie clicked her keys at the main computer console. "Steven MacPherson is the patient liaison there. I wonder if—Hey, wait a minute, Harm. I'm getting a flag."

"What's it saying?"

"Steven MacPherson is deceased. Hang on. Just a hunch, but I'm just gonna look at something else." She rapidly clicked her keyboard again as the screen flickered at her. "Interpol. Steven MacPherson was found murdered in Ramstein. Doesn't give me too many other details."

"You sure?"

"I'm looking at Interpol right now, Harm. But there's more."

"Tell me."

"The report says his civilian ID and his U.S. passport were stolen. Somebody used his passport to get a flight to the United States before anybody had a chance to flag it. He entered the U.S. by a charter flight here in Miami. The day after Arthur Logan escaped."

"Does it say how he died?"

"No. Harm? What's going on?"

"Patch me through to Lieutenant Caine."

* * *

Horatio flipped open his cell phone. "Caine."

"Horatio. Commander Rabb. I think Arthur Logan's in Miami."

The Lieutenant paced back and forth. "You sure, Commander?"

Harm shook his head slightly. "Involved with the Logan case. Ryan Wolfe and Eric Delko are processing the scene now. Emmie ran a search on a civilian ID card for a Steven MacPherson. I don't know whether the killer dropped it by accident, but we have reason to believe Arthur Logan might be in Miami posing as Steve MacPherson."

Horatio nodded slightly. "Okay. You think he might still be under that name?"

"I don't know, Horatio. If it's Arthur Logan, he's pretty smart. Probably as soon as he realizes he dropped that ID card he'll think of something else. He's a Navy SEAL. He's built for survival."

"I'll put out a bolo for a Steve MacPherson. Just in case. Thanks, Harm."

"And Horatio? We need to be careful. This guy's dangerous."

The Lieutenant had a determined look. "So are we."


	6. IAB Charm School

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 5—IAB Charm School**

Emmie Stockburne folded her arms and drew a deep breath, exhaling just before peering cautiously into the open door of the IAB office. Hopefully he wasn't there, she thought, and she'd be off the hook.

"I'm right here, Emmie. Come on in" he heard him call proudly.

_I can do this. One hour of torture and humiliation and it will be all over for today._

Rick Stetler leaned on the edge of the desk, arms folded, watching and waiting. He tipped his head up and smiled.

"Well, I guess we better get started on this thing." Without expression she scanned Rick's office. "I guess this will do as much as anywhere."

He stood up and stood close enough to make her uncomfortable. "Okay. So what's first?"

Stepping back from him, she opened up her brown folder and handed him some stapled papers. "I copied my old Navy protocol manual. It has a list of titles, ranks, how you address them and in what order. Not too different from law enforcement once you get used to it. Just study that, and if you have any questions, just ask me."

Rick glanced at the paper and then at his charge. "That it?"

She shrugged. "Not really sure what else I could tell you. You know it's black tie formal, right?"

"My tux will be ready. Tell me what _you'll_ be wearing."

Emmie turned up her nose at the way he'd asked that question. "My red ball gown. The one in the picture you keep staring at when you come in the lab."

"You heard the commissioner. One hour each week. Looks like we're stuck here with each other for—" He glanced at his watch. "Another fifty-five minutes. Maybe you better make sure I know my job as your escort. It's up to us to make the department look good, right?"

She looked at him dryly. Rick had her and knew it. "Fine. I guess we'll start with making the entrance. When we walk in, you'll stand to my left as we go through the receiving line."

He walked over and stood directly next to her. "Show me" he insisted.

Emmie now turned and looked at him. "You never had any kind of training like this?"

"Charm school's not part of police trainig. Now why don't you take my arm and show me?" He thrust his right elbow out to her. She stood back and hooked her left arm under his. "Fine. First thing will be the receiving line. As I said, dignitaries will be lined up to greet us as we enter the ballroom, highest through lowest rank. As we meet each one, you will first introduce yourself as Sergeant Rick Stetler of the Miami-Dade Police Department, escorting Emmalyn Stockburne. You'll shake hands with every one of them, and then I will." She let go of his elbow. "There's really no reason for me to take your arm right now."

Rick now turned and faced her. "Will they have dancing?" he wanted to know.

"Most likely."

Rick grinned as he held out his hands in her direction. "Come on, Emmie. Practice? I'm not that good."

Emmie looked at his outstretched hands as she backed up and leaned against his desk. "Sir, I get the feeling you aren't taking this very seriously."

Rick was obviously miffed by her challenge. He pulled back his arms. "I'm asking you questions! You're the one who wants to just hand me notes and leave!"

"Well I was hoping you'd look them over! You have to know this stuff backwards and forwards. Just like your police academy training!"

"Fine. But like I said, we need to make a good impression, and it won't happen if I keep stepping on your feet now, will it?"

She sighed. He was going to milk this for all it was worth. Nonetheless, she would put off having to touch him for as long as possible. "Okay, fine. First, tell me your responsibility as my official escort to this thing."

"Take you there, introduce you, politick, protect you, and get you home safely."

"Close, Sir. It's like the Commissioner said. You're my guide, my companion, and, to a degree, my bodyguard. Are you up to that responsibility?"

He glared at her. "You're not going into combat, Emmie. It's a gala. And I'm trying very hard to be your companion, if you'll let me. Don't worry. I'll keep you safe."

"You know about the Schwender case, right? Logan's on the loose, and nobody's really safe."

Rick dipped his head at her and raised his eyebrows to emphasize his point. "Since I'm making all the phone calls to Washington? Yeah, I think I know what's going on. Like it or not, Emmie, you're stuck here with me, so you might as well make sure I can do my part to make you look good, too." He smiled as he held his hands out to her again. "Now come on. We still have over half an hour."

Emmie closed her eyes and bit her lip to hold back the profanities. He wasn't going to leave this alone. "Okay, Sir. I guess I can show you a basic ballroom step." She approached him and reached out to position his arms. In a split second she found herself smashed up against him, her eyes in his neck.

"Now what?" she barely heard him say.

As soon as she caught her breath, she calmly reached behind her and pried herself loose from his waist. "I'm not your wife! Here. Just follow me, okay? I'm trained in this. You just stand where you are, and I'll position you. Okay?"

Taking a deep breath, she carefully and delicately positioned his right hand on the small of her back and took the other in her right while putting her left hand on his shoulder. "These are just the basics. My whole right side will be touching your whole right side, and you step opposite of me." Carefully she positioned herself so their bodies touched. She looked up at him dryly. "And don't get your hopes up. These are the only places you will ever touch me! Remember, I'll guide you. Eventually you'll have to lead me." She turned slightly, gently pulling on his hand. "Sir, just go with it. I'll turn you by pulling or pushing on your left hand, and you follow."

There were no other sounds except their shoes patting on the carpet as Emmie guided Rick carefully through a basic four-step. Much to her surprise, she felt him start to loosen up and follow her. "Sir, you're actually picking this up pretty well. Now follow me through a turn." She pulled gently on his hand. "Not bad. Go with the flow." She tried to ignore him while she remembered her debutante training.

"Am I doing this right, Emmie?" Rick seemed to whisper at her.

"Now that you're not stepping on me, Sir" was all she could say. She felt him firm up his grip on her back and her hand. "Keep your grip loose. I don't need you sweating on me." She was going to keep the IAB agent at as safe a distance as possible. Out of the corner of her eye He seemed to smile, making her skin crawl. Emmie would have enjoyed this if it had been someone else, she thought. Anyone else.

Emmie turned her left wrist on Rick's shoulder and glanced at her watch. "Sorry, but the hour's up, and I have a heavy caseload." With that she immediately reached down and wrenched herself loose from him.

"Practice again next week?"

"Only if you can tell me those ranks and how to address them. Gotta run. See you later."

* * *

The computer tech held herself and shuddered while staring at her console. Rick Stetler probably got his cheap thrills for the day, she thought as she squeezed some hand sanitizer into her palm and rubbed it into her hands. "I feel dirty" she muttered to herself.

Ryan Wolfe stepped into the computer lab. "Hey Emmie. Got the Stevenson file?"

Emmie looked up and smiled at him. "Oh, hi Ryan. Yeah. Just finished it up this morning. Hang on." She spun around and pulled the brown folder out of the stack behind her. "Please ignore the mess. Haven't had much of a chance to clean up in here, and with the Schwender case on top of everything else going on, I also get to play liaison with the Navy JAG Corps. They're friends of mine, so it could be worse."

Ryan quietly grabbed Tyler's chair and sat down facing her. "I heard they paired you with Stetler for the gala. That true?" he nearly whispered.

"Unfortunately. In fact I just came from our first 'grooming' session. The department put it on me to make sure he knows what he's supposed to do."

"Seems like Stetler just won't leave you alone."

She smacked her hands on the desk. "God, Ryan! I don't believe for a minute that they went through any screening process! If they did, it was a gesture!"

Ryan glanced around again before leaning toward her. "Can I tell you something?" he said quietly.

"Sure."

"I applied to be your escort."

Emmie smiled to him shyly. "I would have loved that. I know you would've been great."

"Guess I'm just not political enough."

"Maybe not, but I'd feel safe around you."

Ryan grabbed the brown folder and stood up. "Well, better get back to Trace. We're all working late."

"Yeah, so are we. Scares me to think I spent four years in Quantico for this. Hey, talk to you later, Ryan."

"See you later, Emmie."


	7. The List

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 6—The List**

Mac followed Calleigh into the Trace lab where Maxine Valera was bowed over a microscope and writing notes about her findings.

"Hey Maxine. Found something on those grass samples?" Calleigh asked. She then motioned toward the petite Marine. "Oh, by the way, Maxine, this is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. She's with the JAG office out of Washington. They're helping us with the Schwender case."

"Hi, nice to meet you" Mac said cordially, holding out her hand.

"Hi" Maxine said as she looked at the friendly officer's hand. "Lab techs really don't shake hands."

Mac smiled and put her hand down. "That's okay. Nobody wants to shake hands with lawyers either."

Maxine Valera then turned her attention back to the DNA printouts. "Those soil samples you gave me from the sawgrass had bacteria in it that isn't found in the United States. In fact, this was European soil. We see this a lot with soldiers and sailors coming back from Europe. I guess you could say this stuff hitches a ride to the U.S."

Mac peered over Calleigh's shoulder at the printout. "Nothing that could tie this to Logan, though?"

"Nothing specific. However, I did find something interesting." Maxine held the printout to where both Calleigh and Mac could read it. "Mixed in with the soil sample were traces of jet fuel and fluorine gas as well as glass particles."

Mac looked at Calleigh. "Jet fuel? Glass particles?"

Calleigh nodded. "Didn't the NCIS notes say the light in the men's room was broken out when Dale Cullen was murdered? Fluorine and glass. As in fluorescent light bulbs."

"And the jet fuel is a grade that's common in military planes." Maxine paused. "There was something else" She handed them another printout. "I took the liberty of running an occult DNA on the soil samples. I also found blood. Got a hit from the CODIS."

"Dale Cullen?"

"Three different donors, actually. Dale Cullen, Arthur Logan, and a Scott Meehan."

Calleigh furrowed her eyebrows. "Scott Meehan?"

Maxine nodded. "Had Emmie Stockburne run a wider search on him. Former Navy SEAL himself, also affiliated with KAF. Ends up he lives right here in Miami."

Calleigh nodded to Mac. "Sounds like we better have a chat with Mr. Meehan."

* * *

Mac stood off by the wall as Calleigh perused the brown case file. She then glanced at the man who sat quietly opposite from her at the table.

"Mr. Meehan. Some pretty nasty scars you have on your fist there. They look pretty fresh" Calleigh noted, motioning to his thumb and forefinger.

The rugged, weathered, sandy-haired man glanced down at the pink scratches on his hands and then looked matter-of-factly at her from across the table. "Yeah. I cut myself a lot. So?"

"By busting out a bathroom light when you murdered Dale Cullen? We have evidence that puts you in a German military airfield and at the scene of Captain Bill Schwender's murder. Soil sample from a footprint at the scene."

He smirked. "Who's Bill Schwender?"

"He convicted Arthur Logan of murdering an assistant U.S. attorney. You know Arthur Logan. One of your KAF cohorts."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't been overseas in a long time."

"It's true" Mac said. "We checked your passport records."

"See? Told you."

"But that doesn't mean you didn't hitch a ride somewhere."

"Have you had any contact with Arthur Logan in the past week?" Calleigh wanted to know.

"Yeah."

"You know that could make you guilty of aiding and abetting a known felon?"

Scott Meehan snorted. "Hey, Lady? I guess you think you're scaring me. Go ahead and throw me in prison. I've had to fight for my life before. 'Sides, I said I saw him. I didn't say I helped him."

"Where's Logan now?" Mac asked from where she was standing.

He shrugged with a smile. "Don't know, Ma'am."

Mac pointed to his feet. "Those your combat boots?"

He dropped his eyes. "They are now."

"What do you mean 'They are now'?"

"Logan left them on my property with a note that said I could keep them. You know. Private property. That means they belong to me and not the Government."

From where she stood, Mac looked at the former SEAL pointedly. "Mr. Meehan, the Government is investigating a mass murder case. We do this to protect the population from killers like Arthur Logan. Since you seem to know so much about your rights, then I'm sure you know the Fourth Amendment. Reasonable search and seizure."

Calleigh looked at him firmly and then glanced under the table at the well-worn, scratched black combat boots. They looked as though they had not been polished in years. Dirt had caked off the soles onto the floor. "We'll need those boots, Mr. Meehan. And you've also given us enough to get a warrant to search your house. If we find out you've been harboring Arthur Logan, you'll be charged with aiding and abetting."

The man quietly reached down, loosened the bootlaces with one finger, yanked them off his feet, and slammed them on the table, one by one, in front of Calleigh. More dirt crumbled off them. "You're welcome."

* * *

Frank Tripp stood by, hands on hips, and peered around the small, dark rental house while Delko put down his field kit and snapped on his latex gloves. The house was old and sparsely furnished, but in order. The white window shades were drawn, darkening the atmosphere. The dark, scratched wooden floors creaked. The small living room seemed to send a message of being the inner sanctum only to its occupant, and that guests were not invited.

"This guy's not exactly a social butterfly" Frank noted.

"We're looking for one in particular." Delko walked cautiously toward the small bedroom. It too was plain. A yellowed pull-down window shade shut out as much light as possible. Navy service medals, still in their gray felt-covered boxes, rested in a neat stack on the old, scratched brown dresser. One by one Delko opened the felt-covered boxes as Frank looked on. "This guy's been around."

Frank stiffened up and pointed to something white poking out of one of the boxes. "Hey. Piece of paper."

Carefully Delko opened the gray box and removed a torn, crumpled-up piece of copy paper. He studied the names that were inked on one side. "Frank. Take a look at this."

Someone had inked names in a column. Bill Schwender and Audrey Hennessey had been crossed out.

"Wonder if we got ourselves a hit list. See if our buddy Logan's had his hands on that, Delko." As Delko slipped the paper into an evidence bag, Frank pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.

Horatio picked up his cell phone. "Caine."

"Horatio. Frank. We're at Meehan's house right now. This guy's got what looks like a hit list. Bill Schwender and Audrey Hennessey's names have lines through them."

The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows. "Find any proof Logan's been there?"

"Not yet. Delko's taking it back to the lab to find out."

"Meehan admits he's seen Arthur Logan within the last week. Keep checking. Nice work, Frank." Horatio then dialed his cell phone again. "Commander Rabb? Lieutenant Caine. I want you to get me a list of anyone who has had anything to do with the Logan case. And I mean anyone, even the jurors. Scott Meehan's admitted to seeing him within the last week, and now we might have ourselves a list of names he might be targeting. If anybody on this case is here in Miami, we have to find them before Logan does. Thanks, Commander." With a firm resolve he snapped his cell phone shut.

Harm walked into the lab. "Horatio? Admiral Chegwidden emailed me notes about the case. I got it down to everybody who was involved." He tightened his lips as he handed over the printout. "Somebody else was on that list of witnesses."

Horatio glanced over the pages. He raised his eyes at Harm in surprise. "Dexter Qualls?"

Harm nodded. "Emmie Stockburne's late husband. He was killed before he could testify."

The Lieutenant looked at the printout in deep thought. "Training accident. Yes, Emmie told me. Harm, any way of finding out whether Arthur Logan was on the same training exercise as Dexter Qualls when he died?"

"I'll look into it now." Harm looked at him. "You thinking the same thing?"

"Find out. And don't say anything to Emmie just yet." He looked down. "Commander, something tells me it might not have been an accident that killed Dexter. And in any jurisdiction, there are no statute of limitations for murder."


	8. Warrior Princess

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**A/N: The background music for this chapter is Moonlight Serenade by the Glen Miller Band **

* * *

**Chapter 7—Warrior Princess**

Ryan Wolfe could barely hear his footsteps echo as he walked through the air-conditioned brown and gray fitness center. He quickly glanced up at the Miami-Dade Police Department's emblem on the wall as he passed those police officers who spent their Saturday morning using the weight benches and Life Cycles. As he neared the back wall, the _Slap! Slap! Boom!_ and the jangling of a chain grew louder behind the gray partition.

He stood and smiled. "Thought I'd find you here."

Emmie Stockburne wore her black FBI tank top and spandex shorts. She paused to take a deep breath and arch her back. She smoothed her sweat-soaked hair away from her face and mopped perspiration from her forehead with her white towel. Rewrapping the bandaging on her hands, she looked in his direction and smiled back.

"Hi Ryan. You work out here on Saturdays too?"

"Nope. Just had to finish up something." He surveyed the little area where the worn-out gray punching bag dangled from the silver chain. "Nasty right hook you got there! Sounded like you were hammering that thing."

The computer tech looked down with a tired smile. "Yeah, well, after this week, I really had to beat up something. So what's going on?"

The young CSI looked at the floor and put his hands in his jeans pockets. "I was wondering whether you had any dinner plans for tonight."

She shrugged. "Not really."

He raised his eyes to her again. "Like some dinner at the Miami Beach boardwalk this evening?"

Emmie nodded and smiled. "I'd really like that. I'll just have to get cleaned up, and I'd like to take a nap. Can I meet you there?"

Ryan beamed. "Yeah. Five o'clock at the Portside Restaurant parking lot?"

"I'll be there. Thanks Ryan."

* * *

"I really had a nice time. Thanks for bringing me here."

"Want to take a walk?" Ryan asked, nodding his head toward the boardwalk that stretched along the sand.

"Sure. That'd be really nice."

Ryan strolled with Emmie along the railing of the boardwalk as she watched the lapping surf. She stiffened up when the wind lifted the back of her rose print sundress. Quickly she reached behind her and smoothed it down. "Don't need to be showing myself to the world again."

Ryan grinned at her. "That's okay. I didn't peek."

Emmie flipped around so that her back leaned against the brown wood railing so that her skirt wouldn't fly up again. She could relax and face Ryan now as he leaned on one elbow. She dipped her head and listened to the sound of the surf combined with the faint big band music that drifted through the air from the beach pavilion. "Sounds like they have another beach concert going on."

"Yeah. Sounds nice" Ryan said as he watched the ocean.

"Moonlight Serenade. Glen Miller Band."

Ryan nodded and looked in the same direction, his brown hair blowing in the breeze. "So you had a tough week, huh?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Trying to teach Stetler how to behave wasn't rough?"

"God. Nothing short of a swift kick will accomplish that. I tell you, Ryan. I'm really not looking forward to this thing. I was all excited about this until they had to match me with him."

"So what do you have to do?"

"Meet with him one hour a week. Titles, how to enter, introduce us, things like that." Emmie turned her eyes thoughtfully toward the music that wafted across the sand. "And, believe it or not, ballroom dancing."

Ryan turned his head and chuckled. "Stetler? Ballroom? I'd almost have to see that." He wouldn't admit that secretly it made him jealous.

Emmie shrugged. "To be fair, he really didn't do that badly. Well, it'll be over soon." She glanced out at the glowing surf again. "I don't know, though. The frustrating thing, well... It just seems like…"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know." She sighed as she rested her head on her folded arms. "I feel stupid telling you this. But I'd sure like to know what it is about this place. It's like he's the only guy who ever really talks to me, besides you. I mean, I'll talk to a gentleman here maybe once, and then he's gone. Somebody please tell me what the hell I'm doing wrong?"

Ryan paused. "You haven't figured it out yet, have you?"

She turned toward him. "Figured what out? Do I want to know?"

He looked away as though he was about to reveal some big secret. "Stetler's been chasing them away."

"Huh? What do you mean by 'chasing them away'?"

"Remember that one time he raked me over the coals that first week you were here? He thought I was getting a little too close to you. Every officer that's shown any interest in you gets lectured about fraternization or some other thing. And you know how officer talk. Guess word got around to stay away from you. Looks like he's gonna wait for you to come around to him."

Emmie buried her face in her hand. "Oh God. How could I have been so stupid? I swear, I didn't notice." She nodded her head with a new resolve. "It makes sense now that you mention it. Well, it's not gonna work. I mean, it's not me he cares about."

"What does he want from you?"

"My family has a lot of political ties. Not to mention that I'm a Stockburne. He probably thinks I'm loaded, but I'm not." She leaned her head on her hand now. "Well, now I _really_ can't stand him."

Ryan shrugged. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

"Thanks for telling me, Ryan. Hey, why are we even wasting our time talking about that idiot?"

By now the sun was just peeking above the horizon, making the ocean glow. Emmie leaned her head on her hand, her eyes closed, letting the warm evening breeze blow through her chestnut hair.

Ryan couldn't help it. She just looked so beautiful and confident. He wanted so badly to touch that waving hair, those smooth, bare shoulders. There was something about this tall, strong marine that made him feel confident. "This the kind of music you would dance to at the gala?" he finally asked.

Still leaning on her hand she looked at him. "Could."

Ryan stuck out his hand to her. "Would you rather dance with me?"

Surprised, Emmie looked around. "Here?"

He gave her a sly smile. "Oh, sorry, I didn't ask properly." He took her left hand into his and dipped his head in a slight bow. "My Lady Emmalyn. Would you honor me with a dance?"

She put her other hand up to her mouth and giggled nervously. "I guess I could." She scooped up his hand into her right hand and positioned his left hand onto her back as she touched sides with him. It came much more naturally with Ryan. "Now I just have to guide your hand."

But in an instant all formal training was forgotten. Ryan now eased her over to himself so that she naturally wrapped her arms around him, swaying to the music, closing her eyes, paying no attention to the smiles of passers-by.

"Does it bother you that I'm taller than you, Ryan?" she asked into his ear softly.

"Does it bother _you_?" he whispered back.

"No. Not a bit." Emmie was maybe three inches taller than Ryan, she estimated. "But I just wondered."

"Hey, that's okay" he almost whispered into her neck. He held his cheek closer to hers, both lost in the moment. But then he backed up from her and turned his face away.

"What's wrong?"

He breathed deeply. "Emmie, I'm a CSI. An ex patroller. I've seen it all."

"I don't get it. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm scared to ask you for a kiss."

As she put her arms back around him, Emmie's lips met his with a light kiss, and then another. He held her tight and kissed her, his kisses becoming more confident. He was a gentleman, and she deserved to be treated like a lady, he thought.

Time stood still for both of them now, as the soft music wafted through the air and the surf crashed in the background.

Ryan let her rest her head on his shoulder as he swayed with her some more, listening to the music, the surf, and the wind whistling through her hair.

He looked into her face. "Is this better than ballroom dancing?"

She rested her head on his shoulder. "No comparison. I'm having a wonderful evening. Thanks for asking me here, Ryan."

Ryan picked up her right hand and kissed it as he held her. "The pleasure is all mine, my Lady Emmalyn."


	9. Hunting the Hunter

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 8—Hunting the Hunter**

Alexx caressed the long, black wavy hair as she looked down at Audrey and that telltale bruise under her pale jawline. Normally the compassionate mother could offer up words of tender comfort for each one of her posts, but this was quite different.

"I don't care if you were a lawyer, honey. Beautiful lady like you didn't deserve to die this way" was all she could say.

"Same COD as Bill Schwender, Alexx?" Horatio asked from the overhead viewing area.

The ME looked up to him despondently. "Same thing, Horatio."

"Anything on the tox panel? Wolfe said she smelled like she'd been drinking."

"Zero blood alcohol, Horatio. "Alexx glanced down at Audrey. "But there were small traces of phenol in her system. Chloraseptic."

The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows. "Miss Hennessey wasn't sick, was she?"

Alexx shook her head. "Perfect health."

"I knew she hadn't been drinking" Harm said quietly, arms folded as he watched his dead colleague on the viewing monitor. He leaned toward the microphone. "Thanks, Dr. Woods."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Commander Rabb." Alexx then paused and looked down at Audrey's peaceful face again. "Horatio? We got a monster out there."

"And we're gonna find him, Alexx. Harm" he promised.

Calleigh carried some printouts as she and Mac joined Horatio and Harm in the hallway. "Horatio? Commander Rabb? Got Trace results back on Bill Schwender and Audrey Hennessey.

Horatio and Harm peered over her shoulder. "The cigars and the alcohol?"

Calleigh nodded. The cigar smell was direct contact. Like someone lit a cigar and held it to his clothes. No DNA, no epithelials."

Horatio looked at her. "And Chloraseptic sprayed directly on Audrey Hennessey? Alexx just confirmed that."

"The cigar smoke that we found on Bill Schwender was from a Monte Cristo White. It's a high-end cigar. But we found no ashes of any kind, and there was no evidence that Judge Schwender had been anywhere else. This is the kind of cigar you would find in a cigar bar or a humidor. Also, the scent was on the upper half of his shirt, front and back. "

"Harm, didn't they open a cigar bar in the Homestead Officers' Club?" Mac asked.

"Yeah. Haven't tried it yet. But aren't there cigar bars and humidors all over Miami?"

"Yes, but our two vics were murdered on Homestead. Right now, the Homestead Officers' Club is the only club that sells cigars, and it's open to civilians while the VIP conference is going on. It's the only place on base that both Captain Schwender and Audrey Hennessey could've gotten into."

Horatio looked down the hallway thoughtfully. "I'm going to get with IAB about contacting the Feds and the military police on this one. We can't give Logan any more hiding places."

Harm glanced back in the direction of the morgue. "What can Mac and I do, Horatio?"

Horatio dipped his head and gathered his thoughts. "First of all, get my lab the access to everything NCIS has about Arthur Logan. I want everything. Everything on this KAF group. I want names. And most of all, make sure MDPD has access to Homestead Air Force Base. Arthur Logan knows where to hide and how to get around things. He's not gonna slip away this time."

"The Commander nodded with a resolve. "You got it, Lieutenant."

"Call Admiral Chegwidden and see whether he can pull some favors up in Washington." Horatio now softened his eyes and looked down the hallway. "And let's try to find out whether Dexter Qualls really died in a training accident. I'm sure Emmie would like to know the truth after all these years."

Harm looked in the same direction. "She and I go back a ways, Lieutenant. You're not the only one."

Rick Stetler grunted and cursed under his breath as he knelt down and tugged at the nest of gray computer cables underneath his desk.

"Didn't Emmie just fix that fax machine last week, Rick?" a voice said from across his office.

The miffed IAB agent whipped his head around and stood up slowly, dusting himself off. "Yeah, and it's broken again! Where is she when we need her?"

"She had an appointment this morning, Rick. You'd know that if you checked the calendar she set up for you."

He huffed and shot an angry glare at his shuffled computer equipment. "I'm not a computer tech, and everybody expects me to know that thing inside-out!"

"Miss Stockburne isn't a police officer, and yet we expect her to know procedure, don't we?"

Rick stood in front of the Lieutenant with his arms folded. "Fine. What is it, Horatio?"

Horatio put his hands on his hips and dipped his head. "Rick, I need you to talk to the U.S. Attorney's Office and Homestead Commander's office. We need unfettered access to that base and any information they have on the Logan case. It seems Audrey Hennessey was murdered the same way. Asphyxiation by a thumb to the neck, most likely done by a Navy SEAL. And we have evidence that Arthur Logan is in Miami."

"I've already been doing that."

"No, Rick. I mean it. Some career bureaucrat in Washington can't get in the way this time. Arthur Logan knows how to get around things. He's looking for revenge on anyone who stood against him in his trial. We've found a hit list in our last search and seizure. Anyone on that hit list is as good as dead. Some of those people are in Miami right now."

Rick paused. "Anybody else in town on that list?"

"We're looking into that. But right now two of them are dead. By every right this makes him a serial killer on the loose. If the media gets a hold of this thing with all these VIP's in Miami, you don't need me to tell you what that means." Horatio now looked up at him with more serious eyes. "And Rick, we found out Emmie Stockburne's husband was set to testify against Logan. He was killed just two weeks before the trial."

The IAB agent looked away thoughtfully. "You think Logan had something to do with it?"

"Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Rabb are looking into that now. I don't believe her husband's death was an accident like the Navy says."

Rick gave him a confused smile. "Maybe not, but isn't that the Navy's jurisdiction?"

"Rick, if Arthur Logan was involved, it just became part of our jurisdiction. Besides, the VIP Gala is this Saturday. I want there to be increased security at the Homestead Officers' Club for this thing."

"Horatio, if you're worried about Emmie…."

The Lieutenant glared at him. "I'm worried about more than Emmie, Rick! I'm worried about a cold-blooded killer who doesn't think twice about settling an old score!"

Rick put his hands in his pockets and looked away. "I don't know who else I could call right now."

"Get with Commander Rabb. His supervisor is an Admiral Chegwidden. He reports directly to the Secretary of the Navy. Emmie has contacts, but I'd rather you didn't involve her in any way at this point."

"Conflict of interest."

"Not just that, but she doesn't exactly know her husband was involved in this. And Rick? I'm a little concerned for her safety in all this."

"Why? She wasn't involved. And besides, she changed her name. Logan probably doesn't know she's here."

Horatio now faced him and looked straight into his eyes. "I'm gonna remind you right now that you're gonna have a responsibility to protect her with your life."

He huffed. "No need to tell me how to do my job, Horatio. She'll be fine."

As Horatio walked out, Rick stood with his arms folded and turned his eyes to the shuffled computer equipment on his desk.

_Damned fax machine. I can't stand here and wait for Emmie to fix this thing._

Bending down he repositioned the fax machine so that it sat directly in front of the monitor. He then pounded the RETURN key. The CAN'T FIND FAX message flashed on the screen.

He threw his arm up in the air in frustration. "What the hell do you mean you can't find the fax? I put the damned thing right there in front of you! Come on, Emmie! I can't wait all day to send this!" Rick then kneeled down on the floor and tugged on some cables, his head directly under the fax machine. He looked up in horror when he heard a crack and a scrape. The last thing he saw was the fax machine tipping over the table, falling straight at his widened eyes.


	10. Deja Vu

**Disclaimer-See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 9—Deja Vu**

Emmie Stockburne paid no attention to the gray morning drizzle as she walked quietly to the front door of the Miami-Dade Crime Lab. She stiffened up when she noticed the blue and white Dade County General ambulance parked out front with its lights flashing and the back doors open.

Harm and Mac stood outside of the front door. "Emmie? How did it go?" Mac asked.

She shrugged. "Looks like I'm gonna live." She motioned toward the ambulance. "What's going on?"

"Looks like Horatio is gonna need your expertise up in Sergeant Stetler's office, I think" Mac said matter-of-factly.

At that precise moment the front door bumped open when a uniformed medic backed out pulling a rattling gurney. The compute tech raised her eyebrows in surprise when she saw an unconscious Rick Stetler strapped on, his head bandaged. His tie was missing, and his blue striped shirt had been unbuttoned away from his neck. He had an oxygen mask strapped over his face. Some blood had seeped through the white bandaging above his right eye. Another medic guided the gurney out at his feet. Several onlookers gathered inside the doorway.

Emmie pointed toward the injured IAB agent and shrugged at Harm and Mac.

Harm sidled up to her. "He tried to do your job, and the fax machine fell on his head" Harm whispered.

She rolled her eyes. "Idiot. Harm, would you believe they him handle firearms?"

Harm smiled. "Yeah, well, looks like your date's off for Saturday. He's not handling anything between now and then."

"Don't think I'll be shedding too many tears over it. Let me go upstairs and inspect the damage. Talk to you both later."

Harm pulled out his cell phone. "Well Mac, Horatio said to do whatever we need to. I think we could use some extra help down here now that Sergeant Stetler is gonna be laid up for a while."

"What did you have in mind?" Mac wanted to know while watching the ambulance out of the corner of her eyes.

"See if the Admiral can get Bud to come down here for a few days."

* * *

Horatio stepped into the IAB office. Emmie had already towed in her black cart, her back turned to him. He watched her quietly as she wound a black cable on her left arm. Suddenly she stopped and laid the cable down on the cart.

"Emmie?"

She never turned around. "Hey, Sir."

"It isn't Rick's accident that has you upset."

Normally she would have directly faced him out of respect. This time she continued to stare at the computer equipment on the floor, still wiping her eyes. She didn't want him to see her like this. "No Sir, that was a gift from God. I'm used to doing things by myself." She breathed deeply to try to dispel the sadness. "I'll handle this."

He leaned sympathetically against the desk and fingered his sunglasses. Neither spoke a word.

Finally she tilted her head up. "Hell of a way to find out. Was anybody ever going to tell me?"

"So you know your husband was involved with the Logan case?"

She dipped her head down again. "Ran the check on Harm's court notes to see who else might be in the area. The name that was blacked out? I ran it under the spectrometer." She sniffed. "Bit of a surprise. I never knew Dex was mixed up in this thing."

He didn't know why, but at that moment, Horatio's mind flashed back to that moment that he released Marisol's hand for the last time. He could still hear the monitor shrilling at him as that young heart ceased to beat forever. He lowered his head. "Emmie, I know what you're going through. You know all about my wife."

Emmie bit her lip and raised her head again so tears would not stream down her face. "With all due respect, Sir, you were with your wife when she passed" she said in a strained voice. "I didn't even know what country Dex was in. What's killing me is all the sneaking around. Why the _hell_ can't anybody tell me? He was my husband, for God's sake."

The Lieutenant walked over and stood beside her. She turned her head away so that he couldn't see her face. "Emmie? Listen to me. Do you believe me when I tell you that if Arthur Logan was behind your husband's death, he'll be brought to justice?"

She could relax around Horatio. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand again. "Yes Sir."

"I have Harm and Mac looking into it. They're your friends, and we all want to know the truth, as I'm sure you do." He then looked down at the upended fax machine on the floor. "And maybe we can see about getting you another escort for the gala."

"There was no screening process, was there?"

"I don't know, Emmie. I'm sure politics were involved, though, as you probably figured out."

She smiled sadly. "Don't trouble yourself, Sir. I can go by myself."

"It's no trouble. Besides, the Department wouldn't have it. Rick's accident is an embarrassment for them. Now why don't you take care of this? I don't think Sergeant Stetler will need it for the rest of the week." Horatio had a smile in his voice. "Looks like you finally got a break from something."

Even though she could barely control her tears, Emmie smiled. "Thanks, Sir."

* * *

**JAG Headquarter, Falls Church, VA 1700 ZULU**

Lieutenant Bud Roberts knocked on the door. "Sir? Harm's on the line. Oh, and Sims brought in some danishes. Help yourself. They're in the breakroom."

Admiral Chegwidden picked up his phone. "Thanks, Lieutenant. What is it, Harm?"

Harm and Mac sat in Horatio's office hovered around the speaker phone. "Sir, we're on the speaker with Lieutenant Caine here in Miami. Seems we had a little problem here." He glanced at Horatio. "Well, two problems, actually."

"I know about Audrey Hennessey. What's the other problem?"

"Well, Sergeant Stetler had an accident this morning. They just rushed him to the hospital with a head injury."

A.J. nodded. "I see. Is he gonna be all right?"

"I think so. But he'll be out of commission for the rest of the week."

"So what can I do?"

"Sir, possible to send Bud down to be an extra pair of hands until the middle of next week? At least he'll be able to see the air show on Sunday."

A.J. raised his eyebrows. "You're that short-handed?"

Hearing his name, Bud kept one ear toward the Admiral's office while he adjusted his laptop.

"Shouldn't be a problem, Harm. I'll have TAD cut his orders. Just curious. What happened to Sergeant Stetler?"

"A fax machine fell on his head, Admiral" Horatio said. Both he and Harm were smiling. "He was trying to adjust the cabling, and it fell off the desk."

Bud peered around the room and slid his laptop from side to side on the oak table to try to adjust the wireless reception. The screen began to fade. He slapped it. "Battery low? I just charged that thing!" He slipped out of his chair and kneeled under the table to check the connection.

"There's another thing we're concerned about, Admiral" Horatio said. "In both the Schwender and the Hennessey murders, we found evidence that the killer tried to make it look as though they had been to the Homestead Officers' Club. Tests proved that they hadn't, though. Admiral, I'm a little concerned about safety for the VIP Gala Saturday night."

"I see. Well, what can I do, Lieutenant?"

Annoyed, Bud kneeled and now tugged on the black cable. "Come on."

"MDPD needs unrestricted access to Homestead that evening in case of an emergency. Arthur Logan has already proven that he knows how to get in and out of places unnoticed. He's very smart, he's very patient, and I'm not taking any chances."

"I understand. Don't worry, Lieutenant. I'll take care of that."

A.J. stiffened up when he heard a CRASH! outside of his office and then silence. "Excuse me." He peered out to see a startled Bud kneeling under the table next to his smashed laptop.

"Everything okay in there, Sir?" Mac wanted to know.

The Amiral sighed deeply. "Yeah. Suppose the Miami-Dade PD can lend Bud a laptop when he gets down here?"


	11. Countermeasure

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 10—Countermeasure**

Horatio came forward and extended his hand to Bud Roberts. "Lieutenant Roberts. Welcome to the Miami-Dade Crime Lab. Thanks for coming down to help us out."

Bud shook hands with him. "Sure, no problem. I knew you guys were short-handed. Besides, this way I get to see Miami."

"Miss Stockburne fixed you up with a computer?"

Bud nodded and patted the black case. "I like to work with computers a little, so we had a lot to talk about. She even let me borrow her tool case so I can fix my own laptop. Dropped mine yesterday."

"Yes, so I heard." Horatio then glanced down the hallway. "Harm and Mac are waiting for us in the break room. I'll introduce you to Detective Tripp, who's been doing most of the work on the Schwender and Hennessey cases."

Detective Frank Tripp was at his desk studying an old case. He glanced up to see a parade of white and brown military uniforms following Horatio, walking in his direction.

"Frank" Horatio said. "You know Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie. I'd like to introduce Lieutenant Bud Roberts. He's going to be helping us with the Internal Affairs side of things while Stetler is recovering."

Bud stepped forward, his Navy hat under his arm, and held his hand out to Frank. Frank stood up and shook hands with him. "Hey."

"Pleasure" Bud said.

Horatio dipped his head in thought. "Frank, Tyler ran another check on the hit list you and Delko seized from Meehan's residence. There's only one name on there that's known to be in Miami right now."

"That would be a Gerald English. Former Marine Corps JAG. He was the chief prosecutor in the Logan case. He's at the Silver Palm now" Mac said. "Think you can do a welfare check on him?"

* * *

Frank Tripp and Eric Delko quietly followed the hotel manager through plush, quiet hallway in the Silver Palm. Each had his badge visible and one hand on his 9 millimeter.

"According to the logs and the security cameras, Mr. English hasn't left his room since eleven last night." The manager whispered. His eyes scanned the quiet hallway as he knocked loudly on the door of Room 922. "Mr. English? Manager."

Silence.

"Mr. English?"

Silence.

The manager produced a card key and slid it into the door lock. The lock spun as both Frank and Delko silently drew their weapons and glanced at each other, standing back from the doorway. The manager knew to step back out of the way quickly as Frank opened the door. He and Delko crept in.

"Gerald English? Miami-Dade PD" Frank announced.

There were no sounds in the dark suite except their shoes patting on the plush blue carpet. Their hearts pounded. Delko resisted the urge to jump when the air conditioner clicked on.

Frank scanned the living room area. "Clear!"

Delko threw open the door of the bedroom suite and ducked back. He then held his 9 millimeter in position before slowly peering in and scanning. "Clear!"

Frank held his back to the bathroom doorway, his weapon up by his face. Quickly he spun and opened the door.

He stopped when he heard breathing and a scraping sound.

"Mr. English?"

On the floor he saw a brown shoe moving back and forth on the marble tile. Quickly he darted in to see Gerald English on his side on the blue marble floor. He had his left hand over his neck.

"Hey! Delko! In here! Call rescue!"

Delko holstered his weapon and yanked out his cell phone while Frank knelt down by the brown-haired man. His terrified eyes looked up at Frank while he held his hand to his neck. He then closed his eyes and breathed hard.

"He just left" the man said in a strained whisper.

Frank's eyes widened. "Hang on!" He darted through the suite and back out to the doorway where the manager waited expectantly.

"Call security! English is alive, and he said the guy was just here!"

The manager stiffened up and immediately pulled out his black radio. "Security, Code Alpha! All entrances and exits! Code Alpha! This is not a drill! Code Alpha!"

"Any other place that guy could hide? Rooftop stairs?"

The man shook his head. "They're alarmed, Sir."

"This guy could disarm them! Where's your rooftop stairway?"

The manager pointed urgently down the hallway.

"Stay with him, Delko!" Frank ordered. He then immediately disappeared.

The man began to breathe more regularly, closing his eyes tightly as Delko kneeled over him.

"You're gonna be all right now, Mr. English" he reassured. "We got an ambulance coming. Just breathe."

The attorney slowly sat up while dipping his head. "God. That hurt."

"You okay to sit up, Sir?" Delko wanted to know.

"Yeah." He coughed, sweating and holding his neck.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

He looked around cautiously while still holding his neck. "I ordered room service. Guy brought in my breakfast, so I opened the door." He panted and dipped his head, rubbing his jaw again. "I turned my head, and next thing I know, he was choking me." The man now looked at Delko. "Don't think he counted on me knowing how to fight back, though."

"So you know why we're here, don't you?"

Gerald English nodded. "I've been out of the Navy, but I still read the JAG website. I know about Audrey and Judge Schwender."

"We're gonna have the medics check you out. Did you get a look at the guy?"

"Yeah. Huge blonde-haired guy. Never seen him before.

"Did he look like one of the employees?"

"Uh huh. One other thing I noticed, though."

"What."

"It's nine o'clock in the morning, and he smelled like cigars. Guy has to have one hell of a cigar habit to be smoking this early."

* * *

The scratched white Ford pickup truck slowed to a stop behind the white delivery truck, well out of view of any parking lot surveillance cameras. A brown work boot stepped onto the pavement.

At the same time, the driver of the white delivery truck stepped carefully to the leeward side, away from prying eyes.

"You got 'em?"

He reached into the cab of the truck and pulled out a plain brown box. "Yeah. In the sizes you wanted."

He nodded. "Great. What about the maps?"

"In the box. On the bottom."

"Nobody missed them?"

"Apparently not. These are copies."

The man pulled open the flaps of the brown cardboard box and waded his hand down to the bottom. He didn't really have time to make a thorough search. He nodded his head. "Great." He then stuck his hand into his worn denim pocket and handed over a white envelope.

The delivery truck driver looked at him warily. "You sure nobody's gonna know about this?"

"Not unless you say anything." He put the cardboard box behind the seat and covered it with a brown tarp.

The young delivery driver pursed his lips anxiously. "Well, thanks."

"See you in a few days."


	12. Precautionary Measures

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 11—Precautionary Measures**

JAG Headquarter, Falls Church, VA 1905 ZULU

Special Agent Clayton Webb fidgeted in the brown leather chair while Admiral Chegwidden scanned over the Homeland Security documents.

"So why am I just finding out about this, Clay?" he said into the paper, his eyebrows raised, obviously miffed. He then looked up at the CIA agent. "You had to wait until two of my people are dead and another one was attacked? Not to mention that young SP in Ramstein?"

"A.J., I'm now just getting this myself" he insisted. "I mean, the CIA considers them to be pretty low on the terrorism food chain. Just a bunch of renegade Navy SEALS, really."

The Admiral slapped report down on his desk and glared at him. "Renegade Navy SEALS who killed two of my people, Clay! Your boys had information that Logan escaped and might try to cause trouble in Miami!"

Clayton Webb looked sideways in frustration. "Look, Admiral. First of all, they're not _your_ people! I know the JAG field is close, but don't forget that Hennessey and English resigned their commissions. Secondly, we get so many bits of information. We can't go sounding the alarm every time somebody dies. Besides, how many judges and state officials from all over the country are in Miami right now? And how many is this guy really after?"

"Clay, you know damn well these high-maintenance politicians just need to hear that two of them are dead and one was attacked in his room. What more alarm do you need?" He sighed and gathered his thoughts as he walked from behind his desk. "I spoke with Lieutenant Horatio Caine in Miami this morning."

"What did he want?"

"He's in charge of the Miami-Dade PD. I sent three of my best officers down there to work with him on this thing. He's requesting that his force have access to the Homestead Officers' Club, just in case there's a problem at the gala Saturday night."

Agent Webb shook his head. "Not a good idea, Admiral. You know what a headache that's gonna create if something happens. There'll be enough military security there."

Admiral Chegwidden narrowed his eyes at the brown-haired agent. "Should I remind you that Miami-Dade has been babysitting these politicians for almost a month now with almost no help from the Federal Government? They've been very patient if you ask me."

Special Agent Webb shrugged. "They're making money. We've been giving back to them. Their officers are making overtime. Tell Lieutenant Caine that if we've inconvenienced him, we'll just have the exercise in Las Vegas next year."

A.J. huffed. "Dammit, Clay! That's not the point! Give the Miami-Dade PD the courtesy of jurisdiction on Homestead that one night! Can you do that? Look! Harm and Mac are gonna be at that gala. Some of Lieutenant Caine's people are gonna be there. We know by now that the KAF boys can get right around all that. Hell, NCIS Europe found that in the Ramstein case they crawled along the ceiling joists to get into that men's room."

Clayton Webb leveled his eyes at the Admiral. "And why didn't anyone tell me about that?"

Admiral Chegwidden shot him a disgusted look. "You're the CIA. Why don't you tell _me_?"

Special Agent Webb stood up and shook his head. "I can't guarantee anything at this point."

The Admiral paced behind his desk again. "Fine. I'll take it to SecNav. I'll do whatever I have to. But Lieutenant Caine is gonna be able to take his force in and out of Homestead on Saturday. I'm doing this, Clay. With or without your help!"

* * *

Dade County General Hospital, 1330 hours

Bud flipped his phone shut. "Just as I thought. CIA's not cooperating."

"I hate politicians" Rabb fumed. "Sergeant Stetler. Okay if we come in?"

Rick Stetler groaned as he turned his head toward them. "Yeah. Come on in, Commander Rabb" he said weakly, cradling his bandaged forehead.

Harm and Bud stepped in. "How's that head wound, Sergeant? I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Bud Roberts. He's down here from Virginia helping out while you're recovering."

His white Navy hat tucked under his arm, Bud stepped forward and shook hands smartly with the wounded IAB agent. "Sergeant Stetler. Heard you got a nasty bruise."

Rick still sported a bandage framed by purple bruising above his right eye. He was still groggy from pain killers. "Yeah, well. Had a little accident. I think they're letting me go home tomorrow. Colonel MacKenzie and Emmie Stockburne came by earlier. Brought me some lunch from the cafeteria. They thought I'd like a break from hospital food."

Bud stood next to Rick while Harm sat down in a blue chair in the corner. "That was nice of them. Sergeant, we need to know if you've spoken to anyone on Homestead recently. Lieutenant Caine says there's evidence that Arthur Logan has been getting in and out of the base, and he's worried about security. Besides, did Mac tell you a third JAG was attacked this morning?"

Rick looked across the room at Harm with tired eyes. "No. I didn't know that."

"Happened at the Silver Palm. Same M.O. Gerald English survived, though. Ends up he had some Navy SEAL training himself and was able to fight off the guy."

"Why would Lieutenant Caine be worried? I'm sure the Navy or the Air Force can handle it."

"Just in case there's trouble Saturday night. In the Hennessey murder and this morning, both times the killer posed as somebody who had access. Mr. English said the guy was dressed as one of the waiters. Detective Tripp says somebody messed with the hotel's surveillance." Harm raised his eyebrows. "Sergeant, I think you're underestimating these guys. They know how to get in and out of places. They're patient, and they're usually very careful."

While he listened, Bud spotted an untouched banana walnut muffin sitting on the nightstand. Must have been left over from breakfast, he thought. Sergeant Stetler probably wouldn't miss it. He quietly picked it up and tore it down the middle.

Rick dipped his head. "Between you and me, Commander, I think Lieutenant Caine's overreacting. You know better than anyone how the Federal Government hates having the local police department nosing around."

Harm forced a smile. "I know, Sergeant. But considering we're gonna have so many high-profile guests at the Officers' Club, if there should be trouble, the Miami-Dade PD should be there."

Bud looked thoughtfully at the torn brown muffin and popped a large half into his mouth. It was too large for him to eat, so he let it rest in his mouth while he listened.

Harm shrugged and fingered his Navy hat as he stood up to leave. "We'll hammer the details out. You just take care of that head wound."

Rick rolled painfully to his side and reached forward. "Hey, I had a muffin sitting here on the table. Anybody seen it?"

Both Harm and Rick looked up at Bud. His mouth was still wrapped around half of the walnut muffin. His eyes widened at them.

* * *

Emmie Stockburne sat down in Horatio's extra chair and faced him. "You wanted to see me, Sir?"

Her boss leaned forward and put his fingers together. "How are you feeling, Emmie?"

She shrugged. "Really didn't need to reopen old wounds, Sir, if that's what you mean."

"I understand. Emmie, for at least the next few days, I would like for you to stay somewhere safe. I know you weren't directly involved with the Logan case, but I'm not taking any chances. Your husband was, and we're not really sure what we're dealing with just yet. The department is stretched too thin to put an officer on guard detail, but I would appreciate it if you would stay somewhere voluntarily until Logan is recaptured or until this conference is over next week."

"With all due respect, Sir, I live a guest house on my parents' estate. The whole property is surrounded, and we have electronic surveillance."

"No. You have the waterway on one side of the property, which leaves you highly vulnerable. Emmie, we still haven't found Mr. Logan yet, and he's proven that if there's a way to get in somewhere, he'll do it. I wouldn't ask you to do this if I weren't concerned for your safety."

She looked to one side in thought. "I guess if you want, someone could stay with me?"

"We could arrange that. Would you like for me to have Mr. Wolfe stay at your place until this is over?"

"As long as he stays in another room, I guess that would be all right."

Horatio nodded. "I'll ask him to take you home and stay with you on the property."

"Thanks, Sir. Should just be for a couple of nights. Saturday and Sunday I'm going to share a ladies' suite with Colonel MacKenzie in town." She looked down. "Any idea if the department came up with another escort, or am I on my own for this thing?"

He smiled. "You'll be happy to know that we have someone lined up."

"But you're not gonna tell me who it is, are you?"

He smiled and fingered his sunglasses. "It isn't me, and it isn't Rick."


	13. Casualties of War

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 12—Casualties of War**

Mac stepped into the interrogation room and bent down, hugging her old acquaintance. "Gerry? Thank God. How are you feeling?"

The attorney dipped his head as he tiredly rubbed his jaw. "Hey Sarah. Busy morning. But it's good to see you again."

The petite Marine stepped back and smiled sadly at her former colleague. "Sorry we had to see each other like this. You remember Harm?"

Gerald English smiled a little sadly. "Yeah. Is he here?"

Mac nodded and sat down in the chair next to him. "A.J. sent us down here to help the Miami-Dade PD on these cases. I guess you heard Logan escaped from Ramstein, and there's been trouble."

He dipped his head and looked around him. "Yeah. Definitely been trouble. But it's like I told Officer Delko. I read the JAG pages. Really tore me up about Audrey."

"You badgering my vic, Mac?" Delko said to her with his boyish grin as he walked in with a brown case file. The grin went away. "How's your neck, Mr. English?"

"Better. Thanks."

Delko sat across the table from Gerry and Mac. "Can you tell us what you remember this morning, Sir? Or do you need a little more time?"

The attorney leaned his chin on his folded hands. "Yeah. I'm okay." He now lowered his eyes. "I'll probably give you more details than you need, but, well, my job isn't that different from yours. The smallest details can crack a case, right?"

The CSI nodded sympathetically. "You're right, Sir."

Gerald rubbed his now bruised jaw again. "I woke up at seven this morning. Figured my first lecture wasn't until noon, so I'd just stay in my room and take it easy. Ordered coffee at 7:15. The Café Arabica, which is the same kind I always drink when I'm traveling. A young man about in his twenties, looked Hispanic, brought up the standard coffee tray. Then at 8:10 this morning I called room service again and ordered breakfast. Nothing special. Figured I'd try their Western omelet and hash browns. I noticed by 8:50 nobody was there with my food yet. In the past few days they've had my breakfast there within ten minutes. I called down to the desk, and they were able to tell me that the guy had left with my order at about 8:30."

Delko raised his eyebrows as he scribbled down notes. "No, that's interesting. Go on."

"At nine or so, there's a knock on my door. It's a huge blonde-haired guy through the peephole. He was older, but he was in uniform, so I really didn't think anything of it. He was polite, he fit the part, so I signed the slip charging it to my room and then stepped into the bathroom." He then closed his eyes. "I heard the door close, and then nothing, so I figured he'd left. I just felt something on my neck. The guy snuck up on me and pulled me up against him." Gerry now made a semicircular motion with his left arm indicating that his head had been pulled against the man's chest. He then pointed to his jawline. Delko and Mac leaned in toward him for a closer look.

"So you were expecting somebody to come after you, Gerry?" Mac wanted to know.

"We knew what a sicko Arthur Logan was. We'd read some profiles on Keep America Free. They're an anarchist group. I guess you could say he's the ringleader. No rules apply except theirs. I tell you one thing, though. That guy hates authority. Except his own."

"Did you recognize him as Logan?" Mac wanted to know.

He shook his head and cradled the bruise on his neck. "Never seen this guy before. It wasn't Logan. I'd have known. You don't forget a guy like that."

"And you were able to fight him off?" she asked.

The attorney nodded. "When they assigned me that case, I had to study some Navy SEAL tactics and training. And yeah, I knew about the thumb to the neck. I learned how to counteract it. The big thing about that tactic is the element of surprise. First off, you just don't expect somebody to do that, and at your gut level, you really don't know how to react. But there's another secret to it. First your lungs and voice are paralyzed, and then your arms and legs. Since we were both standing when he grabbed my neck, I swept my right leg around between his feet and kicked him off balance. He fell and tried to grab me again, but I elbowed him really hard in the ribcage. Not sure, but I might have broken his ribs." He paused and looked at the table. "I know I mentioned that he smelled like cigars. I guess I didn't think about this until now." He pointed up and down at himself with both his index fingers. "His uniform really didn't fit him right. Like I said, he was a huge guy. Muscular. The sleeves and legs of his uniform were tight. I'm sure in a place like the Silver Palm, they're careful about how their staff looks."

Delko raised his eyebrows and scribbled more notes. "No. That tells me the guy wasn't an employee there. That and what you mentioned about him being later than usual. I'll talk to the manager again."

Mac nodded thoughtfully. "Bill Schwender and Audrey Hennessey were both murdered the same way. We found evidence that Audrey had been sitting in a car seat when she was murdered."

Gerry shook his head. "That's really all there is to it. That's their big secret. The things you learn in our profession, huh Sarah?"

Delko smiled sympathetically. "Mr. English, you got a good look at the guy who tried to kill you, right?"

"In the bathroom mirror."

He stood up with the case file in his hand. "Would you follow me? I'd like to have you work with our computer tech. She might be able to match your description to a mugshot in our database." He took out his cell phone.

"Mr. English, this is Emmie Stockburne. She's our computer tech."

Emmie stood up and shook hands with the attorney. "I understand you're also a former Marine" she said.

"Former."

Delko smiled. "Anyway, Emmie can take your description and match it to state and Federal databases of mugshots."

Emmie and Gerry English sat in front of the computer lab's monitor. "Okay, Mr. English. We're gonna start with the basics. I prefer to go top down. What kind of hair did he have?" She listened to the attorney as he detailed the man's description with his voice and his hands. Finally she backed away from the screen. "This the man you saw, Sir?"

The attorney nodded. From the look in his eyes, Emmie knew that the sketching software had served its purpose yet again. "Okay. This could take seconds, or it could take hours, but I'm running this against county, state federal, and international."

He shrugged. "So now what?"

She grinned. "How about some field coffee that will take the paint off your stomach?"

"Sounds great."

* * *

Horatio's hushed voice over the radio shattered the silence. "Suspect in view. Coming now. On my word, gentlemen."

The man walked quietly toward his vehicle in the parking lot, the afternoon Florida sun making his pain worse. He hunched over slightly held his side, almost limping.

"On my word" he whispered again.

Clutching his white plastic grocery bag in one fist, the man attempted to take a deep breath before wincing in pain and inserted his key into the driver's side lock.

"Go. Go. GO!"

"Miami-Dade Police! Down on your knees! Put your hands behind your head!"

The man didn't put up a fight. He didn't even look up at the wall of guns trained on him. He merely dropped his white grocery bag on the black pavement and cursed under his breath as he put his hands behind his head. A swarm of Miami-Dade uniforms surrounded him within seconds as he continued to stare at his car door.

Frank Tripp snapped a handcuff on his right wrist and rotated his arms down behind his back.

Horatio approached him cautiously, his 9 millimeter drawn.

"Scott Meehan, you're under arrest for the attempted murder of Gerald English! Get him out of here!"

Frank followed closely behind him. No chances would be taken this time.

* * *

Horatio thumbed his sunglasses as he eyed the former Navy SEAL who sat at the table, still holding his side. Two armed officers stood guard outside of the interrogation room. "Mr. Meehan. Looks like you had a little accident this morning."

Scott Meehan looked up at the Lieutenant matter-of-factly and shrugged.

"You're looking at one count of attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder of a federal employee. And because of your ties to KAF, the Federal Government might be able to add treason at a later date. There's no place to hide here. Gerald English identified you as his attacker this morning."

"Who's Gerald English?" he said dryly.

Horatio narrowed his eyes at him. "Let me jog your memory, Mr. Meehan. Mr. English says he elbowed his attacker very hard in the ribcage. Pull up your shirt."

Without another word, the man locked eyes with Horatio while he slowly and deliberately rolled up his black tee shirt. He now had a telltale bruise the size of a baseball on his right side. "Okay?"

"Where's Logan?"

Scott Meehan rolled his tee shirt back down again and shrugged. "I still don't know." He then softened his expression as he stared distantly toward the window.

"But wherever he is, he's happy to let you take the fall, isn't he? How's it feel to be a casualty of war?" Horatio stepped closer to his suspect. "I get the feeling you want to say something else to me."

"Tell the manager he'll find his waiter in the first floor men's room, second stall. The door's locked."

Horatio immediately yanked out his cell phone. "Dead?"

Scott Meehan dipped his eyes. "Very" he said quietly. "And I want my government lawyer now."


	14. Her Bodyguard

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 13—Her Bodyguard**

"Come on in, Ryan. My spare room is off to the left. Just put your stuff down in there."

Emmie held her front door open as Ryan bumped through with his black shoulder bag. He peered around at the bungalow that was one of the Stockburnes' guest houses. "Thanks. So this is your place?"

She nodded. "For the time being. I really didn't plan to stay here this long, but you can see it's really all I need. Lot cheaper than the city. Besides, I can use the swimming pool and the hot tub anytime, unless my folks have something going on."

As he put down his shoulder bag on the navy blue Berber carpet, Ryan scanned the small spare room. Emmie had furnished it simply with an old full-size bed and a scratched dresser that didn't match. She stood behind him and leaned against the doorway with her arms folded. "It's not much, but everybody seems to think an officer's wife is loaded. Got the dresser at a yard sale and traded the bed for a washer and dryer set. Garage sales have been my best friend."

"Hey. This is perfect."

Emmie stepped into the living area. "This is where a lot of my money went, actually." She pointed to her computer equipment along one wall of the living room. An old brown card table held two monitors, computer consoles, a laptop, and a nest of black and gray wires. "Some ladies like to go shopping. I like to play with computers" she said with a grin. "Well, have you thought about what you want for dinner?"

"Tell you the truth, I'm not really hungry right now. You eat something if you want."

Emmie sat down on her old brown couch and sighed. "I'm not that hungry either. Sit down anywhere, Ryan. I'm pretty laid back at home." She smiled. "Of course my folks didn't handle it too well when I told them why you were going to be on the property."

Ryan carefully sat down on the couch next to her and opened his holster. "Did you tell them I was here to protect you?"

"Well, yeah. Nobody really knew about this thing. My parents freaked. They wanted to hire a security detail, but it's like Horatio said. Just a precaution."

Ryan took his 9 millimeter out of his holster, cleared, inspected, and loaded it again before reholstering it. "So what else do you do in your off time?"

Emmie shrugged. "Really? Read. Play around on the internet. Play with my cat. I still keep contact with a lot of my old FBI friends. In other words, just a normal, boring life, but I like it that way." She then suddenly cradled her arched neck and grimaced.

"You okay?" Ryan wanted to know.

"Yeah. Just working on that console all day. My neck and my back are killing me. I go through tons of Motrin."

Ryan then stood up and walked back into her guest room. "I'll be right back." She could then hear rustling and clinking as he rummaged around in his black shoulder bag. He came back out with a bottle of rose wine in his grip. "Here, Emmie. This might help."

Emmie stiffened up and her eyes widened. She shook her head slowly. "Oh my God."

He stopped and looked at her in shock. "What is it?"

She now closed her eyes and put one hand up protectively. "Hey Ryan? I'm really sorry. This was a bad idea. Maybe you better just go. Please?"

Ryan glanced at the wine bottle and gave her a bewildered look. "What. Is it the wine? I thought you might just like a drink or something" he said innocently.

"Please just go, Ryan. This isn't gonna work. Please?"

"Emmie?"

Not sure what else to do, he set the bottle on her kitchen counter. "You want me to get rid of it?" Without another word, he uncorked the bottle and emptied its contents down the kitchen sink. He then walked out to her warily. "There. Okay? I got rid of it."

Emmie bowed her head and turned away from him. "I didn't mean to lead on, Ryan. Could you please just leave? I'll be all right by myself." Her voice trembled.

Ryan slowly and quietly sat down on the couch next to her. That fear in her voice was hard to miss. "You didn't lead me on, Emmie. But I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I'll get my stuff." He stood up quietly. Emmie kept her head turned to the wall, never moving. Ryan stopped and studied her back for a moment.

"You don't really want me to go, do you? You can tell me the truth, you know."

Her head still bowed, she kept her back turned to him. He carefully sat down next to her on the couch. She took a deep breath. He reached out for her hand. She still never moved.

"Emmie? I don't know what you thought. Horatio asked me to come here to guard you. The wine was a gift. Did you think that I-?"

She never looked at him. "Because you took me to dinner and kissed me once, you thought I owed you something."

He shook his head in disbelief. "No. I am not like that. All I was gonna do was offer to massage your neck and give you a glass of wine to help you unwind a little. I knew you had a rough week." It bothered him to see the tough Marine crumble at such a misunderstanding. "Will you at least give me your hand?"

Cautiously her hand and her eyes wandered toward him. He tenderly picked up her fingers and caressed them. She sensed that it was a tender, understanding caress. He finally wrapped both his hands around her fingers. "See? Better?"

Her eyes finally met his. "Thanks, Ryan."

"Still want that neck rub?"

Slowly Emmie sensed that she could trust him alone with her in her house. She smiled shyly. "That would be really nice."

Ryan kneeled down on the floor next to the couch. "Okay. Lie on your stomach" he said softly.

Emmie lay flat on her stomach and rested her forehead on her folded hands. "I'm sorry I made you dump out the wine" she said into the cushion.

"I actually brought two bottles. You can still have some if you want."

She turned her face to him. "Maybe just a little. I'm kind of a cheap drunk. I don't handle alcohol well."

He quietly uncorked the other wine bottle and poured more rose into a small orange juice glass. "Here you go. Try this. It's just a little bit. You can always have more if you want."

She cautiously took the glass from her hand and took a sip. The wine warmed and soothed her immediately. "It's nice. Thanks, Ryan."

He smiled. "Now put your head down. Close your eyes, and think about something that relaxes you."

Emmie quickly became lightheaded from what little wine she had had. The fear was leaving her, now that she knew Ryan could be trusted. She rested her forehead on her hands and closed her eyes.

"Breathe deep" he said to her softly.

With both hands Ryan reached up and began to knead the back of her neck and her head gently and tenderly with a semicircular motion. He went from slowly working her neck and head with his fingers to gently using the heels of his hands on her upper back. She moaned and breathed deeply, never moving.

Within minutes he noticed that she was breathing very heavily. He looked at her.

"Emmie?"

She was sound asleep now. He gently tapped her arm. She wasn't going to wake up. Gently he eased her head sideways so that she faced him. For what seemed a long time he sat cross-legged on the carpet and watched the sleeping computer tech. He had earned her trust. He thought briefly about the fear in her eyes when she saw the wine bottle in his hand. "What happened to you?" he whispered.

Except for the crickets outside, there were no other sounds but Emmie's deep breathing. Ryan then stood up and looked around, studying the quiet guest bungalow. He couldn't help but notice that along the far wall, Emmie prominently displayed numerous awards-unit citations, photos, plaques, and honors, all framed in gold or brown, all looking back at him. His hands in his pockets, he watched her.

"I don't know where you came from, Emmie. I don't really care who you used to be. I don't know what all those awards are." He wandered back over to her as she still slept. "You're too smart to fall for a guy like Stetler, so you can't be all bad."

Ryan stepped into her bedroom and came out with her burgundy bedspread. Carefully he draped it over her. She still never moved. He then changed into his tee shirt and shorts before he placed the guest room pillows and blanket on the living room floor next to the sofa. "I guess you really need that."

Ryan looked at his charge one more time as he patted his 9 millimeter. He couldn't help it. He gently reached up and kissed her cheek. She still never moved. "I'll protect you, Emmie" he said softly as he turned off the light and lay down on the floor.


	15. Promises Kept

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 14—Promises Kept**

Miami-Dade Crime Lab, 0900 Hours

"Thanks, Admiral. Talk to you later." Horatio sighed as he snapped his cell phone shut.

Harm held his white hat under his arm as he tapped on the office door. "What did AJ say, Lieutenant?"

"Commander Rabb. Come on in. The Admiral says it's no-go for Miami-Dade getting in and out of Homestead. CIA insists the Feds will handle it. Even IAB couldn't make headway. Harm, I'm not going to have my hands tied by a bunch of DC beaurocrats."

Harm faced him with a proud smile. "Don't worry, Horatio. We JAGs have ways of getting around things."

* * *

Embassy Suites Miami, 1700 Hours

There was an air of excitement in the four-room suite like that of two girls getting ready for the prom. Emmie stepped out of the steam-clouded bathroom and wrapped herself in the white linen bathrobe. Even in the air conditioning she still sweated. "Thanks for setting this up, Mac" she said, looking around as she rubbed her hair dry. "This is beautiful."

Mac stood in front of the full-length mirror in her crisp white blouse and full-length black Marine Corps dress skirt. She brushed on her mascara and straightened her short hair. "Good thing I booked this place early. Besides, I could use some company. Besides, how else were you supposed to get into that dress of yours?"

Emmie leaned over the white bathroom counter as she styled her hair and spritzed perfume onto her chest. "You're right. I feel silly asking my mother to zip me up at my age." She then walked over to the closet and gingerly took her gown from its hanger. It was a scarlet strapless ball gown with black lace trim on the bodice and a sash that trailed elegantly down the back. The gown itself was a knockoff of one she had seen in a bridal magazine. The original would have cost almost five thousand dollars, but a good seamstress in Alabama was able to copy it for three hundred. "Well, ready to do the deed?"

Mac came over and dutifully helped her pick up and shape her precious possession. "Ready when you are." Wearing only panties and nylons, Emmie let her bathrobe fall to the floor. Mac put one arm under the bulky satin skirt and helped her tunnel through the black-laced bodice while holding the sashes and skirt out so they wouldn't double under. She heard the rustling of taffeta and satin all around her.

Emmie now stood upright, pulling her generous breasts up so that Mac could fasten the hook in back. "Breathe out" the Marine instructed as she began to guide the zipper up her back. The gown was very form-fitting, even when it was new. Emmie had bulked up with age since then, so getting into it required more effort now. She breathed out as much as she could before Mac was able to get the zipper all the way up in the back. "Fits like one of those old corsets" Mac said. "Maybe you should retire this one."

"Yeah, you're right. Too bad this'll be the last time I wear it. I've always loved this gown. Thanks, Mac." She continued to adjust herself by shaping her cleavage into position and pulling her shoulders back. She quickly turned toward the mirror again. "Oh, hey, could you help me with my necklace?"

Mac reached for the matching red choker. "Here you go. Lean your head back." She reached up and carefully draped and fastened it over Emmie's neck. It had a satin finish with red roses hanging down to her collar bone. Emmie slinked her elbow-length black gloves onto her arms and stepped into her black pumps. In an almost military right-face, she then turned toward Mac, her dress rustling. "Well, how's this?"

As the Marine slipped on her jangling, braided dress jacket, she shook her head and smiled. "Wow! Emmie? Beautiful just doesn't do you justice. You're gonna drive some guy crazy looking like that. They wouldn't tell you who it is, would they?"

"My boss just loves surprises."

Both Emmie and Mac stiffened up when they heard a tap on the front door.

"I'm right here." Emmie reached forward and opened it.

Harm stood handsomely in the doorway in his Navy mess whites. He smiled at her. "Emmie? You look like royalty."

She smiled, embarrassed. "Aw, thanks, Harm. You don't look so bad yourself." She glanced in Mac's direction. "Safe to say you're not my escort?"

Harm straightened his white sleeves, not sure what they had been talking about. "Don't worry, Emmie. I saw your guy pull up in a limo just a few minutes ago" he reassured her. He then turned toward Mac and softened his voice. "Although Colonel MacKenzie here looks just as good if not better. But then again I don't want to start another war here."

"You're not gonna give me a hint who it is, are you Harm?"

He grinned. "He looks sharp in his uniform."

"Thanks. That really narrows it down."

There was another knock at the door. "Okay. Now I'm nervous."

Mac smiled. "That's probably for you."

Emmie closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she nearly yanked open the door.

It was Bud Roberts, also wearing his Navy mess whites and gloves. His mouth fell open when he looked up at her.

Emmie shook her head in awe as she put a gloved hand over her mouth. "Hi Bud. Wow. You look great."

Bud Roberts stepped into the doorway and gazed at her. "Emmie? What can I say? You, uh, well, so do you."

Emmie gently hugged him, giving a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for doing this" she whispered into his ear.

Bud squirmed back from her embrace. "Oh, hey, wait a minute. I'm not your escort."

She raised her eyebrows and backed up from him. "Huh?"

Bud motioned to his right in the hallway. "He is!"

Embarrassed, she put her hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey! You hugging my date, Bud?" a familiar voice said just out of her view.

It was Ryan. He wore his black police dress uniform and white gloves. He also sported a row of medals and gold braids dangling from his chest and shoulders. He carried an armful of long-stemmed roses.

Blushing, Emmie stepped forward and let him place the roses gently into her left arm. She then leaned forward and kissed him slowly. He responded by wrapping his hands around her waist as she rested her gloved arm on his shoulder. . "Wow. Emmie? You look….Wow" he finally whispered to her, shaking his head. "I should probably just go home right now. I don't deserve this."

She giggled. "I was really hoping it would be you."

"Well, I guess you got your wish. I know I got mine." He was careful to make sure she didn't catch him glancing at that cleavage. "Horatio called in some favors."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Harm grinned and raised his eyebrows to Mac and Bud. "I think we better give these two some room" he whispered. "Emmie? Ryan? We'll see you there. Make sure you bring your invitations."

Ryan raised his gloved hand to them as they squeezed past. "Thanks."

Emmie gently laid the roses on the table. "Thanks, Ryan. These are beautiful."

"They match you beautifully" he whispered to his blushing date. "Well, Cinderella, our coach is waiting for us outside. I think we better get going."

She reached for her black lace purse and closed the door gently behind her. Ryan stuck his elbow out to her. "I know you haven't had time to teach me manners and all, but I'll do my best."

Emmie smiled as she hooked her gloved hand under his jacketed elbow. "Don't worry, you're doing fine. And everything you're gonna need to know I'll tell you on the ride over."

Ryan smiled at her slyly. "Really? You're gonna teach me _everything_?"

She giggled. "Yep. Everything."

* * *

The figure remained huddled on the side of the building, instinctively dipping his head so that perspiration on his face would land on his clothes and not on the ledge. The patrol helicopter made its round approximately every five minutes. He sweated profusely as he huddled in the humidity. The evening breeze was hardly any help. He tucked himself between the two standpipes along the outside wall as the green UH-1 helicopter crept through the air diligently. The downdraft felt good, but he knew not to move. He merely looked at the wall and listened for anything out of place.

The roar of the helicopter finally faded. He tipped his head up, still facing the brown wall.

"Yeah. It's gone, over." he said into his earpiece.

"_Okay, come on up, and I'll pull you in. Over."_

"On my way. About fifteen seconds. Out."

Without another word the figure gripped the two brown standpipes, right, then left, up to the brown wall hatch. He knew where it was. He had carefully studied the building inside and out. It opened slowly, and he squirmed in as quickly as he could, shutting it behind him.

As quietly as his huge frame would allow, he let himself fall to his partner's shoulders and then down to the pile of laundry that had been placed there just for that purpose.

The damp darkness was hardly any relief from the outdoor heat. On top of that, the smell of dust, old insulation, and now sweat hung in the air. There was no evening breeze in the stifling darkness.

"Everybody else here?" he whispered.

"Yeah. You're the last." He motioned with his eyes. "Uniforms are over there."

The figure now crept across the floor toward the open box, knowing full well he could still be heard. He then looked at his partner with some doubt. "Logan know what he's doing?"

"Course he does. Why?"

"Seems like a lot. I mean, he got two out of three."

His partner now leveled his eyes at him. "Did you forget? What they did to your uncle's land? They called it 'eminent domain'. And what about that death tax? You paid for that nice little dinner down there. Those government pigs are gonna eat something, laugh about it, and then they're gonna take their fat, happy carcasses back where they came from and do it all over again. How many times do I have to tell you? Logan took care of getting out of Leavenworth. We're taking care of the rest."

The figure nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, man. You're right."

"Good. Jay's doing the nuclear option. If we don't make it, he's gonna hit the button and finish the job."

"Got it."

"Get ready to take out those waiters. Let's move."


	16. Grand Entrance

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 15—Grand Entrance**

Ryan leaned back and put his arms out comfortably along the back of the leather seat. He listened to the smooth, quiet ride and stared around at the soft brown interior. "This is nice. Never been in a limo before." He then turned his head to his charge. "Bet you've been in hundreds of these."

Emmie shook her head. "Just a Town Car or two."

He then smiled slyly and inched toward her playfully. "The driver can't see anything while the privacy wall is up, can he?"

She folded her gloved arms and raised her eyebrows. "I'll slap you."

"I'm kidding, Emmie. Relax."

As the evening daylight faded, the black limousine slowed to a stop outside the bustling gate at Homestead Air Force Base. Ryan and Emmie watched the doors expectantly.

"They're just gonna want to check our ID cards and our invitations" Emmie reassured him. They watched through the tinted windows as a uniformed Air Force patrol officer pointed sharply to the right. The limo pulled slowly into a line of vehicles waiting to be searched.

The young SP then stepped forward and pulled the door open. "Need you to step out, Sir. Ma'am. Have your ID's and your invitations ready" he said in a not-to-be-argued with tone. Ryan slid past her on the plush brown seat and stepped out. He then turned and took Emmie's gloved hand, helping her step out onto the pavement.

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Sir."

Ryan dipped his head. "My pleasure, Lady Emmalyn" he said with a grin.

Both Ryan and Emmie stood on the pavement of the entrance. Both of them watched the noisy sea of taillights, raised trunks, open doors, uniforms, tuxes, gowns, metal detectors, car mirrors, and bomb-sniffing dogs weaving around.

Ryan watched a graying gentleman in a tux exchange words with another young SP. The elder man was pacing back and forth, throwing up his arms. "Sir, we're checking everybody. It's called a _VIP Gala_. Everybody's a VIP here. Now if you'll just wait over there, as soon as we get to your vehicle, we'll clear you" the young guard patiently said.

He shook his head. "Wonder who that is?"

"Don't know. Don't want to know. Some guy who thinks he doesn't have to wait like the rest of us."

"Wonder why they had us get out so early" Ryan asked. "I counted fifteen cars ahead of us."

"It's the government we're dealing with, Ryan. Remember, hurry up and wait."

"Somebody else knows the drill, I see" a familiar voice said behind them.

Emmie turned her head. "Hey Harm. Mac. They pulled you over too, huh?"

"We're the black Town Car about three back. Bud's still over there."

"This have anything to do with the security threat?" Ryan wanted to know.

"Probably" Harm observed, watching the commotion along the roadside. Occasionally another car would pull forward and stop yet again at the gate. "Lieutenant Caine has a long reach."

"You mean they actually listened to him?" Emmie said.

"No, they listened to us." Harm leaned down. "Between you and me, though, I think if these guys are gonna cause any trouble, they could get right around this. But you know how these things work. Gotta have the dog-and-pony show."

Minutes later, two uniformed SP guards approached them. One carried a mirrored handle and sported a firearm and metal detector on his belt. The other led a German Shepherd that seemed to sniff everything. "Evening. We need you to step away from the vehicle. We also need identification and your invitations. Folks, stay by whatever vehicles you rode in. And if you don't have your invitations or ID, you're not getting in this evening" he announced firmly.

Harm nodded. "Well, I guess we better go keep Bud company" he said. "See you there."

The limousine driver opened the trunk and the doors before stepping away while another security guard walked around with the mirror, checking for car bombs on the undercarriage. The German shepherd quickly and dutifully stepped in and out of the front and back, sniffing left and right, up and down, then quickly returning to its handler. "Good boy" the young man said.

The other guard accepted their ID's and invitations, checking them against a clipboard. "Okay, let's see. Emmalyn Stockburne, and Ryan Wolfe? Miami-Dade PD and Stockburne Holdings?"

"That would be us, Sir" Ryan said confidently.

His eyes continued to scan the roster more quickly now. "I'm finding Emmalyn Stockburne on here, but it says on the roster you're coming with a Sergeant Rick Stetler of the Miami-Dade PD."

"The sergeant had an accident. Mr. Wolfe is his replacement" she said matter-of-factly.

He perused the roster and then at Ryan and Emmie. "Okay. Since it's Miami-Dade PD, I don't see a problem." He then took out a pen and scrawled his initials on Emmie's and Ryan's invitations. "I'll go ahead and clear you." He handed them back their invitations and ID cards. "Have a nice time."

Ryan accepted their documents as the limousine driver held the sleek door open for them. Emmie held up her rustling skirt as she climbed in.

"Yep, Sergeant Stetler had an accident. I'm the replacement" he purred just inches from her face. She giggled.

"Hey. Sorry we took so long" Harm said with a laugh. "I thought they weren't gonna let us in."

"What happened?" Emmie wanted to know.

Harm glared at Bud. "Still got your tool case in the trunk. The SP's went crazy. I had to convince them we weren't building a bomb." He smiled now. "But that's okay. Used some lawyer tactics on them. What's the old saying? 'If you can't befuddle 'em with brilliance?'"

Emmie delicately hooked her arm under Ryan's elbow as they began to walk toward the main entrance. "Well, you all set? Nothing to it. Just introduce yourself as CSI Ryan Wolfe of the Miami-Dade PD, escorting Emmalyn Stockburne of Stockburne Holdings and Properties. Then shake hands."

Ryan snorted. "That's it? For that you had to spend an hour a week training Stetler?"

"Well, maybe the Powers That Be knew he needed that long to figure it out."

* * *

The man lay crouched on the dark, dusty closet floor, just low enough to watch the foot traffic, in a way that he could quickly spring into action. Unaware of anything else, the young waiter stepped into the men's room and took off his red vest, hanging it carefully on a hanger before straightening his bowtie. He tipped his head up when he thought he'd heard something in the broom closet. Slowly he opened the door.

"Hey, what—"

It took only a second for the man to swing his face into the wall and press his thumb against the waiter's neck. Within the two minutes he crumpled to the closet floor, dead.

"Sorry, man" he whispered sadistically. "Guess you're just out of a job."

It took only several minutes before his co-worker stepped in. "Bob! You in here?" He furrowed his eyebrows and crept toward the closet. As he slowly opened it, a hand grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into the darkness, already holding him by the neck so he couldn't scream. He then pressed his thumb against the young waiter's neck. This waiter was tall and thin and was easy to kill. Then the SEAL stood back as the next one crumpled to the floor.

"This was almost too easy" he said with a sadistic smile. In the darkness he rolled them onto their backs and ripped their badges off. It would be easy, as these ID badges didn't have any photos.

"_How many you got?"_ his partner said through his radio.

"Three."

"_Got ID's?"_

"In my hot little hands."

"_They're the last. Get up here."_

The man pushed the ceiling tile aside and pushed himself up to the next floor, careful to crawl quietly along the joists, through the hot, humid darkness to where his partners were.

The man had salt-and-pepper hair and age in his face. He didn't have the gruff sarcasm seen in the younger members. In fact, he seemed too well mannered for the organization. Some of them resented his authority. No matter though. He blended in, and Arthur seemed to trust him, no small feat in itself. Some of the younger members hadn't yet warmed up to him, since he'd been with the organization for only a year. "Get 'em out and get 'em on" he ordered. He then pointed to a bucket of soap and water. "Clean your nasty asses first. Something about smelling like a ceiling."

The young man sniffed. "Hey, you think we don't know what the hell we're doing?"

"Some of you? No."

He took one last jab at the old man as he slid out of his sweaty shirt. "You look kind of old to be a waiter, man."

"Maybe, but I'll do a hell of a lot better job than some of you. Now come on."


	17. Just One Kiss

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**A/N: The song for this chapter is "It Might Be You" by Steven Bishop**

* * *

**Chapter 16—Just One Kiss**

Ryan gazed as he escorted Emmie into the sea of gowns, tuxes, military uniforms, and glistening jewelry that was the VIP Gala. The walls of the grand ballroom were done up in a combination of blonde wood and antique white with a Caribbean look and feel. The glass wall on the far side offered a beautiful view of the sunset over the adjacent canal that meandered through the garden of palms and mangroves and then disappeared into the distant sawgrass fields. A tuxedoed ten-member band played soft music in front of the black-and-white marble floor.

"Ever seen anything like this before?" Emmie wanted to know.

"Nope. Never. Kind of makes me feel like James Bond."

She smiled. "Sorry, I don't think they have a casino here."

He put his face up to hers and grinned. "No, but I _am_ the agent protecting a beautiful lady." Emmie blushed.

"Well, here's our places, Mr. Bond." Ryan held out the chair as she daintily collected her skirt before he eased her chair forward. He then sat next to her and picked up the placeholder that said _Sergeant Rick Stetler, Miami Dade Police_. "Too late to change this?"

"I don't see why not."

"Got a pen?"

She reached into her evening bag and handed him a blue pen. She giggled as he turned the placeholder inside out and wrote _CSI Ryan Wolfe_. "Going undercover to protect this mysterious, beautiful lady."

Emmie smiled. "Yeah, well this mysterious, beautiful lady got sent here to do some politicking, or at least pretend to." She craned her neck among the sea of formalwear and VIP's. "I really don't recognize too many people. Looks like Harm, Mac and Bud are sitting over there. Don't see anyone else we know. I'll do my duty after the speakers are done."

"I'm gonna go see what the buffet table has" Ryan said over the music. "Go politick."

Harm stood up with a smile as she gracefully flowed toward him. "Emmie. Where's Ryan?"

She motioned toward the buffet line, where red-jacketed waiters attended the carving station, restocked food, and strolled around with water pitchers. "He went to go get us something. Funny how something this big would only have a buffet instead of a sit-down."

"Yeah, well, a buffet is quicker and all-you-can-eat. Keep those politicians fat and happy."

"Literally. How about Mac and Bud?"

"Same place. Well come on. Sit down." She positioned her skirt as the JAG commander held out a white chair for her.

The tall, thin, bespectacled band leader now turned toward his audience and grabbed the mike. "Okay, folks. We're gonna slow it down just a little here. This will be our last set before our featured speakers, so come on out and enjoy" he announced before nodding his head in time to the band's cues.

"Care to share a dance?" Harm asked, offering her his hand.

"Sure, why not?" She hooked her gloved arm under his elbow and let him lead her to the marble dance floor. He began to slowly sway her while keeping the respectable distance. "So, it looks like you and Ryan are getting to be a hot item" he said into her ear above the noise.

"Well, how about you and Mac? We've only been seeing each other for a short time, but, well, I have a feeling. I just feel so comfortable around him."

"He really seems like a nice guy. "

"Hey, you're stealing my date, Commander!"

Harm stepped back cordially. "You abandoned your post, Officer. Dereliction of duty."

"You mean like you just left Mac sitting there with Bud?"

The commander smiled. "You're right. Maybe I better get over there and share a dance with her before she comes after me." He handed Emmie's hand over to Ryan. "Here you go."

Ryan gently put his hands on Emmie's waist and scooped up her right hand while the band continued to play. "Is this how I'm supposed to do it?" he asked softly.

She rested her gloved arm on his shoulder. "You're a natural."

Harm scooped up Mac's hand and led her softly. She nodded toward Ryan and Emmie. "Will you look at those two?" she said with a smile in her voice.

"You're not getting any ideas, are you?" the Commander teased.

Mac smiled. "Me? Now come on, Harm."

"Well, you were my best choice. Bud keeps stepping on my feet."

She laughed. "Yeah. Mine too. It's too bad Sims couldn't make it up here."

As the piano notes wafted through the air, Emmie couldn't help but notice that Ryan firmed his grip around her waist. She allowed him to pull her a little closer each time until she was finally leaning down and resting her chin comfortably on his black-jacketed shoulder, closing her eyes and enjoying the motion, barely hearing his breathing above the band. She smiled when she felt his hand on her bare back. Time seemed to stand still.

"I'm having a great time, Ryan" she whispered into his ear.

"Me too" he whispered back. "Is this what you hoped it would be?"

"Better, actually."

Emmie lifted her head up off his shoulder and let her eyes meet Ryan's. He tilted his head up to her and kissed her again. She put her gloved hands on his head and returned his kiss as the song came to a close.

"Want to step outside?" Ryan asked, motioning with his eyes toward the door.

"I'd love that."

The garden was dark except for the spotlights in the mangrove trees. The only sounds were the frogs and crickets, with the speaker's voice faintly at their backs. "Sit down for a bit?" he asked her, nodding at the marble bench.

Emmie spread her skirt out and settled down. Ryan sat down next to her.

"You know, Ryan, this is just how I dreamed it would be" she whispered, looking up into the starry sky between the trees.

He caressed her gloved arm. "How you dreamed what would be?"

"Before they matched me with Rick Stetler." She smiled up at the sky. "Well, when I found out I'd be coming here, I dreamed of my escort in a police uniform slow dancing with me, walking with me in the garden, trying to steal a kiss."

He looked deeply into her eyes, just inches from her. "Emmie? I don't have to steal, do I?"

"Never."

Slowly he took her face in his hand and kissed her gently, more firmly, more deeply, wrapping his arm around her bare shoulder. He felt that special stirring as he savored her lips and her soft bare skin. He finally let go and gazed into her eyes again. "I'm glad it was me."

"Me too." She leaned her head on his shoulder and listened to the frogs and crickets.

"Hey, you kids! None of that!" a voice barked behind them.

Ryan and Emmie turned their heads. Harm stood behind them.

"You decided to take a break too, huh?" he observed.

"Didn't really know anybody in there. Where are Mac and Bud?"

"Bud's in there somewhere. Mac had to go powder her nose. She'll be joining us in a few minutes. I think she and-"

_BOOM!_

A huge flash lit up the ballroom through the window. Then screams of terror. All three of them, having some kind of combat experience, dropped instinctively to the gravel. Harm let his white hat tumble into the grass as he let his huge frame drop, covering his head with his arms. "Stay down!"

Instinctively, Ryan grabbed Emmie's arms, pulling her to the gravel, covering her back and her head with his body, holding his arms over his head.

All three of them kept their eyes closed and their heads covered, ignoring the gravel that seemed to cut into them now, nobody daring to even breathe.

_BOOM!_

Emmie whimpered in fear under Ryan's protective arms, trying to curl up into a fetal position. His legs wouldn't let her.

_BOOM!_

Silence.

His head still down, Ryan instinctively patted his side, remembering that he didn't have his firearm. "Just stay down!" he whispered into Emmie's ear.

"What do you think happened?" Emmie whispered loudly.

"I don't know" Harm whispered. "But I don't think it was fireworks."


	18. Under Siege

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 17—Under Siege**

"Oh my God! Oh my God!"

The short, heavyset woman shrieked and hyperventilated as she put her hand up to her collarbone and settled back against the white wall. "What _was_ that?"

Mac backed away from the door instinctively. "I don't know, but stay where you are!"

Mac and the older woman were the only two in the ladies' washroom at that moment. The walls quaked and shook both of them to the core. If she had learned anything from the Pentagon attack and her combat tour, it was to get down and out of the way, first and foremost.

The elder woman's hair was a soft white and sprayed into a bun, decorated with a gold clip. She wore a gold-threaded pantsuit and a beaded jacket. Her string of pearls swayed as she sank slowly to the marble-tiled floor. She began to sweat.

Mac knelt down to her while glancing back at the ladies' room door. "You all right, Ma'am?" It was hard to miss the woman's paleness as she kept her ringed hand over her chest and breathed more heavily now.

The woman looked up with wide eyes. "I-I think so, uh, what are you, anyway?"

"Sarah MacKenzie, Ma'am. I'm a Marine Corps Lieutenant Colonel. My friends call me Mac. And you are?"

The woman caught her breath as she glanced at Mac's decorations again. "I'm, uh, Mildred Vanderhorn. Major…. I was a… nurse…in the…Korean War."

Satisfied that there would be no more explosions, Mac crept back to the door. No lock. Instinct told her she had better stay here with Mildred. Now there was only the silence. Slowly she opened the ladies' room door and peeked outside.

"What's…out there?" the woman wanted to know.

Mac sampled the air. "Smells like somebody set off flash-bang grenades" she nearly whispered. Whereas both ladies heard screaming just one minute ago, there was now one voice from the grand ballroom, and not very clearly at that.

Mac glanced behind her again. Mildred now looked terrified, still holding her chest. She eased the door shut as quietly as she could.

"Miss Vanderhorn—"

"Please...Call me…Mildred" the lady said between frantic breaths.

"Are you gonna be all right?"

Mildred reached for her purse. "I have to…take a…glycerin pill. Can I have…some water?"

With sweaty, trembling hands, Mildred slipped the tiny pill under her tongue. After searching feverishly for the cups, Mac brought her new partner a small paper cup full of water. "Here you go. Tell me if you need more."

"Thank you…Colonel. I wonder…what's happening…out there" Mildred asked, her breaths coming more naturally now.

Mac had her ear nearly to the door. "Me too. But we better just stay put for right now."

* * *

The quiet, sobbing terror of the grand ballroom was shattered by one set of feet marching across the marble floor. As he strode toward the podium, his cold, calculating blue eyes swept the smoke-filled room, probing for anything at all that might be a threat. He held his M16 with the muzzle up, hand on the trigger, ready for action. Just like he had hundreds of times before. All of his senses were on high alert. No fear. No anger. Just cold, patient determination as he held his face to the podium microphone.

"Listen up. If you're military or a veteran, get up and get out now. Everybody else sit down and stay wherever the hell you are. Go out the front door. Do _not_ try to come back in, and do _not_ try anything funny. If you do, I'll blow your head all over this room. We're all former Navy Seals. We know every inch of this building. We love our country, and we hate what you bastard politicians are doing to it." He motioned with his M16. "Veterans and military, out that door! Move it! I know you heard me!"

Five other short-haired men in red vests and black slacks now came forward and herded the military out the door, while the rest surrounded the terrified crowd in the scorching haze. Like their leader, each one carried M16's at the ready, muzzles tilted toward the ceiling, ready to point and fire in an instant. They watched just as diligently as their leader as most of the terrified guests stood up slowly and cautiously walking toward the doorway, huddling together, glancing behind them.

His cold, determined eyes scanned the remaining terrified guests, about one hundred in all. Most eyes were on him, terrified, nervous. Some bowed their heads in terror, helplessness. Women buried their faces into their husbands' shoulders and sobbed.

He now walked away from the podium, striding more confidently through the smoky air, stepping past the black marks on the floor that had been left by the exploded flash-bang grenades. With his captive audience pared down by half and more silent now, he could get closer and talk over them.

"Okay. The rest of you. Pukes and poticians. Get something straight in your little brains. _We don't like you_. That means you do anything stupid and we'll shoot you. So listen up. Take your cell phones, your PDA's, your pagers, and slide them over on the floor. Right here. I know you know how to take directions. I find out you didn't do what I tell you, man or woman, I'll blow your head off. Makes no difference to me. Let's go! Hard of hearing?"

Slowly the sea of gowns and tuxes stood up, looked around, patted themselves, and watched their captors reluctantly as cell phones, pagers, Blackberries, and radios slid across the marble floor one by one. He looked down at them, not with satisfaction or anger, but with cold calculation, as though everything was happening the way he had planned. He nodded as another red-jacketed man collected them up into a box and disappeared.

"You're all wondering why you're here, besides the free food. One of our members had a family farm. Been in his family for two hundred years before you stole it right out from under them. Eminent Domain, you called it. Then you kicked him when he was down. An extortion you call death taxes. Now here's what's gonna happen. You're all gonna give it back. With interest."

* * *

In the balmy night air, the crowd of military and veterans didn't hesitate to take out their cell phones to call for help.

Bud looked around frantically when a white arm yanked him into the shrubs against the wall. "Hey!"

"Bud! It's Harm! What's going on in there?" Harm whispered loudly, his face just inches away.

Bud caught his breath. "They just told all the military to get out. Everybody else is still in there. They're the waiters. They had M16's. They got a hostage situation in there."

Harm now glanced up at the building. "Arthur Logan in there?"

"Yeah. He's the leader. I recognized him from the mugshots."

"Where's Mac?"

"I didn't see her anywhere. She might still be in there."

"How many of them in there?"

"How many what?"

"How many hostage takers?"

"About twelve. They had M16's. That's all I saw before they kicked us out."

The commander tugged on Bud's white sleeve, leading him through the brush as he crept along the wall.

The outside air now became thick with sirens on the ground and helicopters hovering overhead. The air fanned down in the darkness, kicking up dirt. Spotlights now glinted from nearly every angle.

Emmie and Ryan hovered out of sight from the glaring lights and roaring helicopters, just in case one of the captors was patrolling the grounds.

"Wish I knew what was going on in there" Ryan said. He then patted his side. "Wish I had my firearm." His eyes then followed a black cable that snaked out of a hole in the old wall and trailed to the ground.

"Emmie. That a satellite cable?" Harm wanted to know, shouting over the roar.

She glanced and tugged on it. The neatly-cut end came up in her gloved hand. "Yeah. Looks like it goes to a security box. This thing was definitely cut." She then kicked the ground. "Yeah. Here's the other end down here."

Harm looked up into the window about five feet above their heads. "That's gotta be the security room in there. Bet they have the cameras in there. Emmie, can you splice that cable?"

"You still have my tool case in your car?"

"Yeah."

"If somebody can get me my tool case, I can have this thing spliced up in about five minutes."

"How are we gonna get to the car?" Bud wanted to know.

Emmie peeled off her satin gloves. "I suppose I can do it by hand. It might not work, though. Okay, I know how to do this now." With her teeth she bit on the black plastic coating and peeled it back, then began to unravel the wires. "Been a few years."

"Can we still get that tool kit?" Harm wanted to know. He reached into his white pocket and handed Ryan his keys. "Ryan, why don't you meet up with one of the SP's out there?"

"Sure."

She looked at him. "Ryan, be careful. If you have that tool kit, you're gonna have weapons. Just trust me."


	19. Making Connections

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**A/N: WARNING! This chapter contains slight racial and gender slurs. Sadly, some people can't see everyone as human beings. Also, Emmie's "accident" will be significant in the next chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 18—Making Connections**

Arthur Logan, his hand still on the M16, picked up the buzzing phone. "I'm listening."

"This is Colonel Javier Cardenas with the U.S. Army. Am I speaking to Arthur Logan?"

He smirked. "Oh, so now they're giving rank to illegal aliens. On top of everything else."

"I'm actually from Puerto Rico. Please tell me what you want."

"These puke politicians owe us money. They grabbed my friend's family farm and didn't pay him crap. Now we want it all back. We figure interest, late charges and taxes adds up to five million. Oh, and if it isn't in our hands in one hour, everybody in here will be burned alive in here. Far as I'm concerned, save my tax dollars."

"Mr. Logan, that isn't much time. The money has to be shipped, stacked, counted, banded up and delivered."

"Fifty-nine minutes, Colonel, or a hundred fat, money-grabbing politicians are toast. Literally."

"Mr. Logan, could you at least let the women out of there?"

"Why? They got fat off my money too. You see how many fat pigs we got in there? Fifty-eight minutes. Clock's ticking, Colonel."

* * *

Satisfied that she had properly twisted the wires together, Emmie now pulled the black coating flush on the cable. "Best I could do. If it weren't for all these lights I couldn't see a thing."

"That's okay" Harm assured her. He glanced up at the window above their heads. "Now I'm gonna need you to do some climbing."

"WHAT?"

"Bud and I will boost you up to that window. Make sure nobody's in there. But you gotta get up in that window."

Emmie glanced down at her gown. "Harm, you really think—"

"We gotta get that security room working! Those cameras are the eyes and ears for the SP's. Get over here, Bud. We're gonna give the lady a boost."

The computer tech draped her gloves on the nearby shrub. Harm put his interlaced hands in front of her knees. "Okay, step up."

She put her foot on his hand as he thrust his arms upward, boosting her up quickly. Grabbing the old wooden window ledge she peered in. "Nobody in there. And yeah, that's the security" she whispered down.

Harm was clearly straining under her weight. "Try the window. Bud, give me some help here."

Bud quickly grabbed Emmie's other foot as she pushed up on the old window. Slowly it slid open. "Hey. Unlocked!" she whispered.

"Great. Bud and I will push you up on the count of three. Ready? One. Two. Three!"

Emmie managed to get her upper body through the window, but a chill shot through her when she felt something give on her dress as she fell the rest of the way in, landing on her side with a THUMP! She stayed on her side motionless, gathering her skirt, her eyes closed in fear, praying nobody heard.

Within minutes she saw hands and then the rest of Harm pulling himself up through the window, landing as carefully on the wooden floor as he could.

Satisfied that it was safe, both Harm and Emmie sat up quietly. Harm suddenly averted his eyes and cleared his throat, motioning toward her bodice. "Uh, Emmie?" he whispered.

She glanced down at herself. "Oh my God" she whispered, quickly covering herself with her arm. "Sorry, Harm." The force of the window ledge had caused her bodice to slip, and her breasts now barely peeked above the black-laced fabric. In an embarrassed fit she whipped around and attempted to adjust it. After a couple of failed attempts to tuck herself back in, Harm finally stepped behind her and carefully draped his white dress jacket over her bare shoulders. "See if we can fix that later."

"Thanks" she said with an embarrassed sigh. "Sorry about that."

The commander smiled. "That's okay, Cyberprincess. Don't need you to be distracted. Now see what you can do with this system."

"ME distracted?"

The split screen monitor showed all angles of hallway security cameras. "Well, looks like they're working, now that I fixed that cable."

"Any sign of Mac?"

Emmie shook her head. "I don't see her. Hang on." She groped for the black adjustment knobs on the console. "I can zoom out here. Yeah, here you go, Harm. The grand ballroom. There they are. And with the spliced cable, the security company can relay this. Those infrared sensors don't always tell you who's who, but this will show them everything."

Harm pulled out his cell phone when something on the camera caught Emmie's attention.

"Hey, right here! Is that Mac peeking out of that door?" she whispered.

The Commander peered over her jacketed shoulder. "Yeah. Where's that?"

The computer tech clicked the keyboard. "That's the ladies' room just down the hallway from the grand ballroom, and not too far from here. Hang on. I can line up these cameras and give you directions." She turned knobs again. "Straight down that hallway."

He crept to the front door. "Stay down. Whatever happens, don't open that door."

"Oh God, Harm. Please be careful."

With determined eyes he slipped out the door.

* * *

The man felt a buzzing on his belt. Picking it up and reading the black radio sensor, he looked around. His M16 at the ready, he crept down the creaking wooden hallway, following the strength of the radio waves, eyes rapidly sweeping between the hallway, the sensor, and his weapon, ears piqued for any kind of unusual sound.

Emmie was clicking the keyboard and turning knobs to readjust the cameras when the door flew open without warning. Instinctively she allowed herself to fall to the ground, hoping the uninvited guest didn't see her. There was no way she could crawl under the desk without her skirt rustling. She simply shut her eyes and huddled down on her knees, not even breathing. _Oh God! Go away, whoever you are! Please go away!_Her heart quaked as she heard footsteps around the room. Maybe he didn't see her and would leave.

Before she knew what had happened, the man yanked her up sharply by her left arm and then covered her mouth. Instinctively Emmie lost all sense of reality as she closed her eyes and let out a muffled scream. Her whole world jostled, her skirt flying in every direction around their legs. She tried to wrench herself out of his grip. It was no use. The man knew how to counter her every move. Her mind went blank as she could only hold onto his strong arm in an attempt to pry his hand loose from her mouth. In a split second, images flashed through her head of what he might do to her. But then blind terror took over.

He rapidly hustled the terrified computer tech away from the desk, into a closet, holding her feet just high enough not to touch the floor. Though she was bigger and heavier than most women, he shifted her body effortlessly to avoid her fighting, flailing arms and legs.

She continued to scream under his hand as tears now streamed down her face. In the darkness he yanked her head back.

"Hey! Emmie! It's me! Dammit, will you stop screaming!" he whispered loudly into her ear.

Her screaming stopped when she recognized a voice. Her wet eyes widened in the darkness. Slowly she let him put her down on her feet and take his hand off her mouth. Slowly she turned around, straining to see her captor in the darkness.

"Emmie, it's me." He shone his flashlight between the two of them.

"Stukes?" she whispered.

He could only gaze at her for a moment. "What the hell are you doing here?"

When reality came back to her, she shook her head. "Stukes? God, I don't believe it. What are YOU doing here?"

He looked into those beautiful green eyes that he hadn't seen in so many years. "Why didn't you get out when you had the chance? Those guys know who you are. If they find you, they're gonna kill you."

She shook her head. "What are you talking about? Stukes, please tell me what's going on? Are you mixed up in this thing?"

He now let out a painful sigh and put a hand on her jacketed shoulder. "Look, don't talk. Just stay in here."

"How do you know this place?" She looked around. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Tunnels in the wall" he whispered matter-of-factly. "This is an old World War II building. Look, don't talk. Stay here and you should be okay. I don't think they'll find you."

The two looked into each other's eyes for a moment. Stukes couldn't help himself. For just a moment he touched her cheek. "Stay here, Emmie, and don't open that door. It's the only chance you got." With that he slipped out into the light.

* * *

Bud crouched behind the shrubbery. He stiffened up when he heard a rustling in the darkness.

"Over here, Bud."

It was Ryan. He carried Emmie's black tool case. "The SP's know we're here, so it's okay. Satellite's working. They're picking up the signal. Where's Emmie and Harm?"

Bud pursed his lips nervously. "Yeah, we helped Emmie up into the window. Harm put his hand up her dress…." he started.

Ryan opened his mouth for a second. "Never mind, Bud."


	20. Vulnerable

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**Special thanks to Harmysings and Michi uk for the reviews. **

* * *

**Chapter 19—Vulnerable**

Mac stiffened up and she darted behind the last stall when the door creaked open slowly. Mildred was safely in the corner, her back leaning against the wall. She still held a trembling hand to her chest, breathing as deeply as she could.

The Marine breathed a sigh of relief. "Harm. Thank God!" she whispered.

"Mac?" he whispered back warily.

"Back here!" she whispered, motioning.

He slipped through the door as quickly as he could, his eyes still darting about. He touched her shoulder. "You okay?"

She nodded. "I'm not sure about Mildred, though."

The gray-haired Army nurse looked up at him with a tired smile. "Hi there" she said wearily, raising one hand and keeping the other on her chest. "You must be Commander Rabb. Mac told me all about you."

Harm knelt down while still glancing up at Mac. "How are you doing, Ma'am?"

"Mildred" she insisted between breaths. "And my chest is kind of tight."

Harm pursed his lips in frustration as he held his finger to Mildred's sweating neck. "Your pulse is a little fast, Mildred."

"I know. I took a glycerine pill."

"The one time I didn't bring my cell phone. Dammit!"

"Harm, Bud said they let veterans and military go. I'm thinking…."

He looked at her. "That maybe we should just let them know we're here?" He looked warily at the door. "I don't know. But it sounds like the only chance she's got." He slowly began to open the door, but then closed it again and shrank back when he heard a determined set of footsteps. Perhaps military and veterans were allowed to leave, but he still had a bad feeling.

Mildred Vanderhorn dipped her head wearily as her chest continued to tighten. Seemed like the glycerin pill and water weren't having the desired effect this time.

Mac knew that look. Mildred was getting worse. Slowly she let herself sink to the floor next to her.

"You gonna be okay?" she nearly whispered, scooping up the lady's curved, wrinkled, shaky hand.

Mildred dipped her head as she panted more. She now had a sad smile on her face. "You know, it's funny. I was just thinking Seoul back in Fifty-One. A troop transport had hit a mine. We must've been up for a good seventy-two hours straight patching those men together. And on top of that, the North Korean artillery got pretty close to us." She drew several more deep breaths. "So you two are JAGS, huh? Tell me, Mac. Did you and Harm ever try to argue a case in the middle of a shelling? Did you ever get scared when you were in Iraq?"

Mac now pursed her lips as she held Mildred's now sweaty hand. "Yes Ma'am. Plenty of times."

Mildred gripped her hand a little more tightly now. "Feel scared now?"

She wasn't sure what else to say. "We're gonna get out of here, Mildred. Don't worry."

* * *

Stukes walked dutifully down the creaky old hall toward the grand ballroom. Another Seal met him.

"What's going on back there?" he demanded, motioning with his eyes.

Discreetly Stukes clicked off the black device before showing it to his cohort. "Nah, it's nothing. Thought I picked up some radio waves. Think this thing just died. We better get back there. Art can't do this himself."

The man gave him a hateful stare as he made his way back toward the grand ballroom. This guy thought he was something special. In spite of his advice, he now crept down the hallway to the security room where the door was still open.

With his trained senses he surveyed the room. The window was now open slightly. He noticed a black heel mark on the varnished wooden floor, and the chair looked like it had been pushed, as though there had been a scuffle of some sort. His steely brown eyes darted around the room as he leaned his back against the wall, surveying, sniffing, listening. He tipped his head up when he thought he heard a voice.

Emmie leaned back against the wall in the darkness, now making some attempt to adjust her bodice. "Dammit, come on. Get in there!" she said aloud to herself.

In a split second the door flew open, nearly blinding her. When she saw the angry, imposing figure, she knew immediately that it wasn't Stukes. She pressed her back against the wall, arms up, now shaking her head in terror.

His fiery eyes met hers for a second. Then the recognition set in. He smiled almost sadistically. "Emmie Stockburne-Qualls" he beamed, setting down his M16 on the table. As she slid backwards, he lunged forward and grabbed her arm and her neck. She shrieked as he whipped her around and pinned her against the wall.

He looked down at Harm's white Navy jacket. "Who's with you?"

"Let go of me!" she wailed, trying desperately to wrench out of his grip.

"Whose jacket is that?" he demanded again into her ear.

For a second time, terror blinded her mind. She knew she was helpless against him.

"Fine. You don't want to talk? I can fix that" he snarled. Before she could react, Emmie felt the pressure under her jaw. He had his hand on her head and calmly held his thumb to her neck. Just like all the others. "Just think. You're gonna be with your husband again" he whispered into her ear, sounding like he was getting sadistic pleasure out of it.

Weakly she clawed at the plaster walls as her head began to tingle. Pain shot through her head and her left arm. Emmie could only hear his determined breathing. It couldn't end this way, she thought. As her mind and her body went weak, she could see stars in the darkness. Her head sagged and her legs began to buckle.

_Ryan? Please help me._

Over her weakness, she barely heard a hissing sound and felt the man suddenly release his grip from her neck. She had no strength left as her body became deadweight, crumbling to the dark, dusty floor.

Ryan dropped the hot soldering rod that he had just jabbed into the base of the man's skull and reached forward, stepping over her attacker and carefully picking her up under her arms. She slid across the floor, her dusty skirt rustling, as he backed her out and quietly laid her down. Her head flopped down as he eased her onto her back as quietly as possible.

"Come on, Emmie. Please be alive" he begged softly as he felt her neck. Her pulse began to race back to life as she caught her breath, coughing, convulsing. Still aware of his surroundings, he grabbed her hand and shushed her. She moaned and put her other hand up to her neck. Ryan couldn't help it. He bowed his head down to her, putting his face to her ear.

"Ryan?" she whispered softly, her eyes still closed in agony. She gripped his hand more tightly now.

"I'm right here" he whispered back. "I'm not gonna leave you."

As her senses returned, Emmie became keenly aware of a burning smell. Instinctively she held his hand more tightly. "What happened? What's that smell?" She remembered the smell of burning flesh from the deepest darkest corners of her mind as a combat veteran.

"Your soldering rod? Bud showed me how to use it. I stuck it in the bastard's neck." Ryan breathed deeply to dispel the adrenaline. Reality now set in that he had had to kill another human being. He then glanced at the legs that stuck out from the compartment doorway. "I just did my job as your escort. That's all."

The near-death experience, along with the smell of burnt flesh, were more than Emmie could bear. She started to cry. "Oh, God, Ryan" she sobbed, her eyes closed in pain. "Please get me into that closet?"

This time Ryan kicked the attacker well out of the way before he picked her up by the waist and dragged her across the floor and shut the door.

* * *

"Any sign of them?" Bud wanted to know as he watched the monitor anxiously.

"Nope. Nowhere, Sir" the young SP said matter-of-factly. "They're probably still hiding."

Bud Roberts now sat in the dimly-lighted mobile command van, his eyes glued to the monitor. The young uniformed SP now leaned forward with a determined look. "Yes Sir. There's the grand ballroom. There they are."

Bud immediately poked the screen with his finger. "There's Logan. What's he doing?"

"He's looking at his watch and yelling something."

The Lieutenant breathed deeply. "I hope they know what they're doing."

The young man nodded. "I think they do, Sir. Let's just watch."

Bud dipped his eyes. He felt incredibly helpless right now. "Yeah. You're right. Let's just watch."


	21. Final Showdown

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

**Chapter 20—Final Showdown**

"Sir? Could you please let my wife go? I swear to God, she didn't have anything to do with this."

Arthur Logan now leveled his M16 at the chest of a thin, older man who wore a black tux and glasses.

"Congressman McBride. Both of you had everything to do with it! You both smile on the TV, and then when some morons reelect you, you start stealing from us."

"I'm sorry" he said, his voice quaking. "But please. My wife."

"Tell you what. I'm not such a bad guy. You and your wife are gonna walk ahead of me." He glanced matter-of-factly back at his cohorts. "Ten minutes, and the money ain't here yet. So I'll tell you what. Congressman McBride, you can buy some time for these animals."

As their captor marched them down the creaky hallway, their footsteps echoed off the walls. The congressman held his wife's trembling hand as tightly as he could. His heart pounded, and he kept his head down. His wife wrapped her free hand around her husband's jacketed elbow as she clung to him. Both of them couldn't help but feel as though neither would be coming back.

Arthur Logan leveled the M16's muzzle at his chest, shoving him into a foyer and handed him a cell phone. "We got eight minutes left. But I tell you what. You can save yourselves and everybody in here, and all it's gonna cost you is a phone call to your co-rulers. Tell them to repeal that little Eminent Domain ruling right now. My friend's farm was in your district! _You're_ responsible. Oh, and the money in seven minutes."

The man now looked at him with wide eyes and shook his head. "I can't do that. That was a Supreme Court ruling. The House had nothing to do with that" he insisted. His wife continued to cling to his arm, tears now on her face.

He looked at the Congressman unfazed. It wasn't necessary to raise his voice. A low, threatening tone got the message across. "I know how you government pukes work. Back-room deals. Scratch each other's backs. Pork barrel. Who paid who. No, you get your skinny little butt on the phone and do it. You and your wife look fat and happy enough. My friend's uncle lost almost when you snatched his farm out from under him to build a bunch of developments. Now you're gonna fix it."

Cell phone in hand, He bowed his head sadly and took a deep breath, knowing he was about to seal their fates. "I can't do what you're asking."

His eyes now blazing, he quickly raised the barrel of his M16 at the man's head. "Fine! This will save my tax dollars!" Reflexively the terrified man held his wife as she shrieked.

Arthur Logan stiffened up when he heard a click behind him.

"You heard him, Mr. Logan. He can't do anything" a calm but firm voice said behind him. "Now drop the weapon."

His weapon still trained on the Congressman, the former Seal backed up just enough to see what was behind him and what was ahead of him. His eyes widened, as he wasn't accustomed to being challenged.

Horatio held his 9 millimeter at the former Seal's head. "Miami-Dade Police. It's over, Mr. Logan. Put it down" he insisted again, walking slowly toward the steely-eyed man.

Arthur Logan simply locked eyes with the Lieutenant who inched ever closer to him, his black service revolver now just behind the man's ear. "Arthur? It's over. Put down the weapon and get down on the ground now. _Do not make me fire_."

"Go ahead and kill me. I knew it might come to this."

Horatio never took his eyes off Arthur Logan. "Congressman, you and your wife step back."

Never taking his eyes off his captor, Congressman McBride pulled his terrified, sobbing wife back.

Immediately Arthur Logan whipped the M16 barrel toward the fleeing couple. Horatio quickly fired, striking him in the neck. His head tipped up as he dropped to the floor like a rag doll. His M16 fired straight up into the ceiling as he landed on the floor.

His wife shrieked and hid her face while Horatio kept his weapon trained on the dead man. A black pool of blood now spread under him.

Instantly the grand ballroom erupted in panic. Another Seal darted down the hall to his dead friend's aid, barrel aimed squarely at Horatio. Another shot rang out, and he fell forward.

With determined eyes, Stukes stood against the wall, his barrel pointed at the back of the latest casualty. His eyes darted back and forth between Horatio and the panicked ballroom crowd.

"Captain Stukesbury, U.S. Navy, Lieutenant!" he shouted above the panic.

The Lieutenant subsequently backed against a wall to avoid any gunfire. "Thanks for inviting me, Captain! I'm gonna help get these people out!"

As their numbers quickly dwindled, the red-vested captors obeyed the commands to drop their weapons and put their hands on their heads. Several tuxedoed undercover agents bolted forward, revolvers trained at their heads, cuffing them as quickly as possible.

By now the grand ballroom had become a mass of overturned tables and chairs, smashed glasses, pools of wine and scattered linen. Guests now scrambled behind tables or toward the exits. Stukes hurried in, still clinging to the wall. "Get these people out of here!" he shouted among the screaming, shuffling and crashing.

* * *

There were no sounds except the frogs and crickets, and the occasional splash of a fish in the canal. In the humid darkness, the man patiently lay face down in the raft that he had hidden in the tall, soggy sawgrass. He tipped his head up slightly when he felt the black device on his belt vibrate. He looked at the LCD screen in the dim light.

Time was up.

Immediately he pulled out another black device and clicked the button with a resolve. He would have mere minutes to be ready to move his cohorts out of there as quickly and quietly as possible. As he began to raise himself up, he heard clicks behind him. Adrenaline shot through him. He knew exactly what was happening.

"FBI! Lie down and put your hands behind your head" a low, threatening voice growled.

The man put locked his fingers on top of his head and slowly turned around into the spotlights that now nearly blinded him. It didn't matter now. He had done his job.

* * *

When the last of the terrified crowd was gone, Stukes held his M16 in front of him as he scanned the creaky hallway, creeping against the white wall the whole time, slowly advancing to the security room.

Ryan bolted up, ready to unload his new M16 into Stukes, who reflexively stepped back out of the way.

Emmie was sitting tiredly in the office chair that Ryan had moved into the closet. She put her hands up. "Wait! Ryan, he's a friend of mine! What's happening?"

"Captain Stukesbury, Navy Covert Operations. It's over. I gotta get you out of here." Ryan reflexively laid down the M16.

Emmie stood up painfully. "_Captain_ Stukesbury?"

He yanked both of them out by their arms. "I'll explain later!"

"Wait! Harm and Mac are still in the ladies' room down the hall, I think." She wrenched her arm free of his grip.

"Stay against the wall" he cautioned.

Emmie slid past him and opened the ladies' room door. "Harm? Mac? You in here?"

Both Harm and Mac had stayed out of sight along the far wall. "Emmie? What the hell's going on out there?" Harm demanded.

Stukes poked in his head. "Navy Covert Operations. It's over! I'll get you out of here."

Mac's eyes motioned toward Mildred, who still sat on the floor gasping, out of view. "Wait. We can't leave Mildred" she insisted. The Army nurse now leaned her head back weakly against the wall. "Hi there" she said weakly. "Sounds like you had a busy night."

Stukes slung the M16 over his shoulder and knelt down to the woman. "Ma'am? You okay?"

"She's got a bad heart" Mac said softly. "I think she's getting worse."

"Is it me or is it hot in here?" Mildred asked more faintly now.

Ryan furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, come to think of it…."

In an instant the relative calm was shattered by screaming smoke alarms. Stukes peered outside the door. A wave of smoke now found its way into the room. He shut the door as quickly as he could.

"Incindiaries! They're torching the place!"


	22. One Last Rescue

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**A/N: Contains minor spoilers for "Ghost Ship"**

* * *

**Chapter 21—One Last Rescue**

Gray smoke curled up under the doorway as the smoke alarms screamed from the other side. Mildred stayed put and kept her eyes weakly closed, seemingly resigned to her fate. Real fear was setting in now.

As the senior officer, Stukes found himself quickly taking charge again. "Turn on those faucets!" he barked.

Immediately Mac leaned over and turned on the three sink faucets while the Captain's eyes darted around urgently. His eyes landed on Emmie's now dusty dress.

"Sorry, Emmie." With one hand he reached down and grabbed a fistful of the flame red skirt, pulling her off balance. She grabbed onto his shoulder and whimpered as he pulled the fabric apart with both hands, exposing the blac underlay of that beautiful gown. Stukes quickly ripped the red fabric into squares and handed them out. "Everybody wet this down and tie it over your face!"

Ryan's eyes were fixed on the smoke that started to gather along the ceiling. "We're gonna have to make a run for it, aren't we?"

"We got no choice! This is an old wood building. We got three minutes tops!"

Mac started to cough and her eyes stung as she put a wet square over Mildred's face. With a weak hand Mildred pushed it away. "Go without me."

"We're not leaving you" she assured her new friend.

The room vibrated as though something had exploded from a distance.

Stukes stripped off the red vest he had been wearing and stuffed it against the doorjamb. "Not gonna need this anymore."

Mac tied a wet cloth over Mildred's pale, tired face, while Harm, Ryan, Emmie, Mac and Stukes each donned a wet cloth. Stukes now stood at the doorway. "Everybody breathe in as much fresh air as you can right now! There won't be much of it outside this door. I know this building, so everybody make a chain. I'll get us to the nearest exit. Bend down because smoke rises. Harm, can you get Mildred?"

The Commander reached down and scooped up the pale, tired Army nurse. "Come on, Mildred. Hold my neck. We're going home. One way or another" he said through his wet face cover. She simply leaned her head against his shoulder, too weak to protest anymore.

Stukes held a hand to the door. "We have to do this. Remember. Hold on to each other and walk low. Everybody ready?"

Nobody answered. Everybody knew that this was their only chance to survive.

The Captain yanked open the door and immediately began to pull them out into the smoke-filled, hot, screaming hallway. The hot air and thick smoke assaulted their senses. The fires seemed to climb the walls and draperies more and more, reaching the ceiling, surrounding them more and more by the second. Still, each one of them knew that seconds would count, and they would have to keep moving.

* * *

Firetrucks now screamed up the road as Horatio scanned the glowing darkness, his red hair flying under the downdraft of the helicopters. "Find them yet?" he shouted to the Navy SP.

The young man shook his head. "Still searching the area, Lieutenant!"

"Well keep looking! They're the only ones missing!"

The officer rushed into the spotlights and screaming sirens.

"Be out here" he whispered.

* * *

Flames now licked up the sides of the main entrance. Stukes stopped and immediately pulled the human chain back toward the rear door.

That one was blocked too.

"Dammit! They torched the exits first!"

Air pressure caused the windows to implode one by one. Hot glass flew through the air, spraying them, stinging them. Ryan looked up as the building groaned, threatening to collapse any second.

Stukes noticed that Emmie suddenly stared straight forward, her eyes fixated on something. He wasn't sure what.

She waved her arm forward. With her head low, she walked forward with her head down, still gesturing with her arm.

"Emmie, what are you doing?" he hollered above the noise.

She didn't answer. She motioned to them with her arm and kept moving. Stukes reached down and grabbed the tail of her gown, leading the rest of the human chain, following Emmie, who now had a fearful but determined look as she stopped at a side corridor for what seemed a second.

"Come on!" she yelled, motioning with her arm and moving forward again. The smoke was thick and seared their eyes and skin, but the flames had not made their way to this narrow hallway yet. Several of them coughed.

In the smoky darkness, Emmie stopped again. She turned left, motioning with her arm. The human chain followed her.

The computer tech finally stopped at a door in the kitchen area. Stukes pushed forward and slammed his shoulder against it. The door burst open as they fell down the steps and out into the nighttime air into the blaze of spotlights and confusion, now coughing and gasping for fresh air.

From where he stood, Horatio noticed. "Hey! Over there!" he hollered over the noise. With his hand on his weapon, he ran with several uniformed SP's over to where the human chain had just fallen out on the grass to safety. His colleagues now smelled like smoke. Their faces were red and tear-stained as they pulled the wet taffeta masks off their faces and gasped for fresh air.

Harm set Mildred carefully down on the grass as he kneeled down and gasped for air, yanking the now hot, dry cloth from his face. Horatio touched his shoulder. "Harm! What happened?"

The Commander was about to speak when there was a loud crack and a deafening roar behind them. Sparks flew into the nighttime sky and flames shot up as the building completely collapsed.

Mac patted Mildred's shoulder. "We got out of there just in time, Mildred."

The Army nurse's eyes were closed as her head fell peacefully to one side. Mac felt her neck for a pulse. "She's gone." The Marine simply closed her eyes and bowed her head.

Harm and Horatio moved up to her. "Didn't quite make it?" Harm asked.

Mac shook her head and wiped her eye.

Ryan and Stukes had now caught their breath and moved over to Emmie. She sat on the grass, her forehead on her knee, now crying uncontrollably and shaking her head.

Ryan put his hand on her shoulder. "Emmie? You gonna be okay?"

She kept her face buried in what was left of her torn, soot-stained skirt. "I'm fine, thanks."

"You saw something in there, didn't you?"

She didn't look up or answer.

Stukes put his command aside for a moment and gently sat down in front of her. "You've never been in that part of the building before. How did you know where to go?"

Harm, Mac, and Horatio sat beside her as she looked into the distance. "You'd never believe me."

"Try us," Horatio insisted.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I saw him."

"Saw who?"

"Dex. My husband. My late husband." She breathed and wiped her face again. "I swear."

Ryan caressed her back. "Go on."

"He…was in his…camouflage. I could see him…just like I can see you. He looked right at me. Right into my eyes. He didn't…speak to me. He just…went like this." She motioned with her right arm. "You know. Like he was…saying…'Follow me. I'll lead you out.' And every time we got to a corner or a door, I saw him do it again." She lowered her head to her knee and cried again.

Harm looked down at the grass. His late father guided him out of that burning ghost ship. "I believe you. Sounds like Dex came back to save you one last time." He then looked back at the fire. "All of us."

She looked up at him adamantly. "Harm? He's gone. And I don't believe in things like ghosts or people coming back from the dead."

Horatio sat down next to her compassionately. "Emmie, I know what you're trying to say. I don't know what happened in there. I don't know what you saw. But I'm sure you know angels can take on different forms. Maybe an angel took on the form of your late husband. Something you'd understand and would follow."

She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and nodded. "Thanks, Sir."

Horatio stood up again. "I'm gonna have Rescue check everybody out. Let's get these people out of here!"

As medics quickly tended to them, Mac looked down at Mildred's peaceful face one last time. She wiped away a tear. "Sorry, Mildred. I hoped we could save you."

Harm looked at her. "You did, Mac." He glanced around. "_We_ did."


	23. We Were Soldiers

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**A/N: You may wonder why I wrote this chapter. Some of you remember Widowmaker coming back and taking Horatio up in that fighter jet. I've decided to write that out and rework it somehow when I post "Stealing Thunder". It would make no real sense the way it is. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 22—We Were Soldiers**

"_Today's Air Show has been cancelled. We deeply regret the inconvenience. –Commander, Homestead Air Force Base."_

The somber mood that hung over the small Air Force base matched the damp, overcast Sunday morning. The sickening smell of the burnt officer's club now hung thickly in the air, noticeable from all ends of the base, it seemed. Now and then, more smoke curled up into the sky from the blackened skeleton, caused by the occasional flareup of a hot spot. The fire department stood by, dousing it immediately. NCIS techs in gray overalls now sifted through the carnage. Occasionally the morgue carried out the remains of a KAF member. Uniforms from all branches stood silently behind the yellow tape, still not believing that this could happen in their back yard. The jets, carriers and cargo planes that were meant to be on show now lined up one by one on the runway before screaming away into the sky. They would not be needed here.

* * *

"Emmie? Hey, Emmie."

She felt a jab on her shoulder before she opened her tired eyes. She was sore from head to foot, having run and struggled for her life, and now a fitful sleep of only two hours. Her neck felt sore and her head pounded.

Mac stood over her, just as tired and glassy-eyed, looking like she herself would fall asleep any second. She wore a gray tee shirt and black shorts. "How you feeling?"

As her senses slowly came back to her, she patted the leatherlike cushion under her, not sure how she ended up there. Holding her head, she stretched and lay her head back on the sofa arm. "Not too good. Where is this, anyway?"

"You're in the sixth squadron's break room.

She recognized herself in one of her long tee shirts and spandex leggings. "Mmmm. How did I get dressed in these, anyway?"

The lawyer gave her a tired smile. "Your parents heard what happened. They brought out some clothes and some other stuff for you."

"About what time?"

"Five in the morning. You don't remember changing into these, do you?"

Emmie lay her head back down. "No. I don't."

"We should go back to the hotel and get the rest of our stuff. Ryan's roses are still there. Your folks left you some sandals, too."

"Yeah, sure."

Her head throbbed worse as she slowly and painfully sat up, holding her neck, rotating it around in circles, and then taking a deep breath. "Where's my dress?"

"You mean what's left of it? Over there on the chair."

She moaned as she slowly stood up and walked to the metal office chair. With one hand she picked up the pile of fabric that just a day ago made her feel like royalty. The red taffeta was covered with dust. There were charred holes all over from what she presumed were from the falling embers. The dress still smelled like smoke and perspiration. Most of all, though, she saw the front of that skirt that Stukes had torn off to save their lives. She bowed her head and lay it back over the chair.

"You all right?"

She nodded and sat tiredly back on the couch, nursing her head. "Yeah. Just when I said this was the last time I'd wear that dress, I didn't know how right I was."

* * *

_We're following the developing story of the Homestead Officers' club, the sight of a hostage standoff and later a deadly fire. Five members of the organization KAF, which stands for Keep America Free, held over one hundred politicians and dignitaries hostage for two hours. Three people in all were killed. All of those were members of this organization. _

The young man then stepped aside and pointed behind him. _Here on my right you can barely see the charred remains of the Officers' Club. KAF is a group mostly consisting of former Navy SEALS. I'm told that despite having been out of the service for years, they're still very good with SEAL tactics. Sources say that Arthur Logan was the leader and the one who carried out this plot. Logan was being transported from Ramstein to Fort Leavenworth, but he somehow escaped custody and came to Miami under a different name. Mr. Logan was shot and killed in the standoff by local law enforcement._

_It's now believed that the fire was caused by remote control incindiary grenades that were set off by another KAF member who was well away from the building. He is now in custody. _

Emmie had showered, dried off and changed, glad to be rid of that smoky smell. Now she lay on her side and watched the memories unfold on the TV screen. It all seemed so surreal now.

"You sure you're gonna be okay?" Mac asked as she toweled her hair dry. "Maybe we should turn that off. Too depressing."

Emmie reached up and thumbed the remote, letting the TV go silent. "Yeah, you're right. No, I'll be okay. Probably should get off that bed. If I go to sleep right now I'll never wake up."

"By the way, I spoke with Ryan Wolfe. He's gonna come pick you up in a little bit."

"Great. Thanks."

Mac hesitated for a moment. "Stukes is here in this hotel."

Emmie looked at her friend with wide eyes. "You kidding me?"

"He's heading back today, too."

"Which room is he in?" Emmie almost begged. "I'd like to at least say goodbye to him."

Mac gave her a long, hard look. "I don't think that'd be a good idea. You know he can't talk about Dex's last mission. I'm telling you again. Don't go there."

"Mac, it'll be okay, I swear. I won't say a word about Dex. I just want to say goodbye before he leaves." She sat back down for a moment and sighed. "You know, Mac? Seems like all my close friends are still up in DC."

"Not true, Emmie. We've been watching you. You're happy here. More than you were at Quantico. And besides, Ryan looks like he loves the heck out of you."

"It's funny, you know? Every one of us served combat tours. We dealt with the shooting and the bombing and the dead bodies."

Mac sat down with her. "Never gets any easier, does it?"

"I worked the Highway of Death for three days, but I still can't get it out of my mind. But last night?"

"I know. Combat all over again."

"Do you think it'll ever get out of our heads?"

"Probably not. Nobody who comes back from a war is ever the same."

Emmie finally nodded with a resolve. "You're right about that. Well, okay. Guess I'll take my stuff back to the car and go have some breakfast. I'd really like to see Stukes though, you know, just to get some things straight in my head. Well, I guess that's it." As she stepped forward to hug her dear friend, her voice cracked. "God, I'm really gonna miss you. And Harm. Bud, too."

The female JAG hugged her back. "Sorry we couldn't leave under better circumstances."

This was not just a casual acquaintance between two co-workers. Emmie would definitely miss them. Mac found herself wiping tears from her eyes as well as the two ladies held each other.

"You didn't hear this from me" Mac finally whispered. "Room 750. He actually asked to see you."

"Thanks. So when's your flight take off?"

"We'll be taking off with one of the transport planes in a couple of hours. Ends up SecNav wants a full debriefing of this thing. Before I go, I have to go see a friend of my own."

* * *

Alexx was rinsing down the autopsy table when she noticed the Marine Corps uniform in her peripheral vision. She turned around, hose in hand. "Well hello, Colonel. "Came to say goodbye to Mildred?"

"How did you know?"

The M.E. gave her that motherly smile. "I just know. Hold on, Sweetie. She's right here." She opened the silver door and slid the body out, folding back the white sheet. Mac stepped up to the pale, heavyset sleeping body, her white hair now lying straight under her head. "You know Dr. Woods, it's funny. I only met Mildred last night." She paused for a moment. "Could you tell me what she died of?"

"In addition to the arteriosclerosis, this poor, sweet woman had restrictive cardiomyopathy. Stress induced. I hear she was a Korean War army nurse. That's enough to harden anyone's heart." Alexx now looked down tenderly at the sleeping woman as only Alexx could. "You served just as bravely as all our military, Mildred."

"Have you called her family yet?"

Alexx shook her head. "This dear lady has no family. They brought her in with no ID, so we don't even know where she lives. Since Horatio gave Emmie the week off, our other AV person's looking into that today."

"Thanks, Dr. Woods. Any idea what will happen to her now?"

"Probably a county funeral. Not enough for a lady who gave her life to serve."

Mac looked down thoughtfully and then handed Alexx her card. "Ma'am, let me know what you find. If it turns up empty, I want you to give me a call. I'm sure SecNAV can arrange a burial in Arlington."

Alexx glanced at the card and then at Mac. "That would be wonderful, Colonel. Certainly better than a county funeral." With that she put the card in her side pocket.

Mac came forward and looked at that sleeping face one last time. "Maybe we'll see each other again." And with that she left.


	24. Loved and Lost Twice

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

**A/N: This is the last chapter of this work. I'd like to thank Harmysings and Michi UK for the reviews. Our Little Secret is the next work in my Ryan/Emmie series, and I hope to start posting it soon. Again, many thanks, and I'm glad you enjoyed. **

* * *

**Chapter 23—Loved and Lost Twice**

Stukes opened the door slowly. He was dressed in his Navy whites and looked as though he too was ready to travel. .

"Hey, Emmie. Good to see you again. Here, come on in." He hugged her as she stepped into the room.

"Mac said you asked for me. Didn't know you were gonna be at the same hotel, or I might have come by to see you."

"You weren't supposed to know." He put his hand on her chin and turned her head to examine the purplish bruise under her jaw. "Lieutenant Caine told me what Ryan Wolfe did. Hope you can put him in for some kind of an award."

"I'll sure try." Emmie glanced around his suite and then at him. She finally had a chance to look at him in the light. Time had certainly taken its toll on the romantic young lieutenant she had known all those years ago. Though he was still handsome as ever, that soft brown hair was now salt and peppery. His eyes looked a little more tired, but she wasn't sure whether last night had anything to do with it.

He motioned to the red couch. "Well hey, sit down. I'd offer you something, but I have to check out soon. Got just enough time to grab some lunch, and then I gotta catch my flight back to DC."

She settled down on the couch. "So you've been in this hotel all this time, huh?"

"Only for the last month. I had to stay out of sight while we got ready to take this thing down."

"Did you know that Arthur Logan was going to escape?"

"No. The original mission was to take out the local KAF. Nobody was expecting Logan to escape like that. That changed everything. Tough guy to deal with."

Emmie looked up into his bloodshot eyes. "I think I know why you asked me here."

He put a hand on her shoulder as he sat down beside her, dipping his head while he gathered his thoughts. "Look. Emmie, I can get in a lot of trouble for what I'm about to tell you. The mission's still classified."

"Weren't they all?"

"Either way, we never discussed this, and you were never here. You understand."

"Of course."

"Anyway, Logan was being charged with a whole host of things. He really should've been put into pretrial confinement, but the command complained they were shorthanded. Dex was Logan's squad commander. He knew bits and pieces about KAF and some of the things Logan was into. In fact, you now know they had him set to testify in the Alabama killing. Well, you also know that Navy Seal teams have to have one hundred percent cohesion, and they have to completely trust each other. And I mean completely." He looked into her eyes again. "I can only say this. Logan wasn't supposed to be on that mission. Don't know why he was, but I guess it doesn't matter much now. It was an amphibious assault exercise in Honduras. Logan was on Dex's dive team. At first everything went the way it was supposed to. Dex was responsible for laying the charges on the footbridge. Well, I don't know how much you know about detonation fuses…."

"Not a whole lot."

"Those underwater charges are timed, and one went off too soon." Stukes looked down again. "Dex was in the water checking them when it went off about two feet away. He probably never knew what hit him. A closer look showed that someone had timed that charge differently than the rest of them. Somebody wanted him dead, do you understand? I really think that's all you need to know. We believe Logan was somehow involved. But because the case was politically sensitive, it got buried in somebody's stack of foldrs, and it kind of went away. Training? Yes. Accident? Well, yes and no. After that all hell broke loose on the command level. Some high-ranking officers were relieved of duty. When the dust settled, they broke up that team. "

Emmie could only close her eyes and rest her chin on her hand. She was most likely cried out from the night before. "The Navy told me nothing other than it was a training accident and the cause of death was inconclusive. His funeral was closed casket."

Stukes put a hand on her knee. "And that's all they're ever gonna tell you. Look, Emmie. I told you this because we go way back. I know you have the sense not to play hero and go digging around and going public with this thing. Arthur Logan was a sick, arrogant SOB. He would've gotten kicked out of the Navy or gone to prison eventually. But now he's dead, so it really doesn't matter anymore. You also know that raising hell isn't gonna bring Dex back. None of this ever should have happened. But if I were you, I'd really think about moving on with your life."

"Can I tell you something, Stukes? You're gonna think I'm an idiot."

"Try me."

"I'm not really sure I ever loved Dex. I mean, I made vows to stand by him forever…."

He nodded. "Navy Seals are gone ten months out of the year. You probably never really got to know each other." The weathered Captain glanced back at his luggage. "You know what, Emmie? You really should go on with your life. Come on, I hear they got a good buffet downstairs. Let's get some breakfast. My treat. You gonna be all right?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I can't tell you how long I cried over this."

* * *

"That all you're gonna eat?" he asked, motioning toward the strawberries on her plate.

She shrugged. "I'm really tired, so I'm not that hungry. I see you still eat like a Navy Seal, though."

With his fork he jabbed the sausage on his plate. "First time I got to eat real food in a year now. Besides, this is my last assignment. Retiring the end of this month. This is kind of a celebration for me."

"Really?"

Stukes softened his expression as he gazed into those green eyes again. "Yep. Already got something lined up. Staff for the Armed Services Committee in Washington. I'm staying put. And I won't be gone so much anymore."

"That's great. Congratulations."

The two of them sat silently for a moment.

He reached across the table and gently grasped her fingers, caressing them with the other hand. He leaned toward her. "Would you like to come back to Washington?" he asked more softly now.

She stiffened up. Clearly she wasn't expecting this.

"Emmie? Sorry. Hope I'm not interrupting anything" a familiar voice said.

She pulled her hand back from Stuke's gentle grasp as Ryan stood by. "Oh hi Ryan." She motioned toward the table. "Ryan, you met Don Stukesbury, an old friend of mine from our Navy days. Stukes, this is CSI Ryan Wolfe. He was my escort."

Stukes stood up and shook hands with the CSI. "Congratulations. I heard what you did to the guy who tried to kill Emmie last night."

Ryan gave him a sad smile. "Yeah, well, it earned me some administrative leave while they investigate."

"I think you'll be all right" Stukes assured him. "Emmie knows where to reach me. Call me if I can do anything. I have friends."

Emmie turned to Ryan as he touched the purple mark on her jaw. "Hi" she whispered with that smile.

Stukes's heart sank. His hopes were dashed when he saw the way she talked to Ryan. Without another word he pulled out his wallet and dropped a couple of twenties on the table. "Emmie, I just realized I got another briefing before I head to the airport. Sorry to eat and run. I'll see you later." He simply kissed her cheek. "Ryan, nice meeting you." As he passed the table he discreetly guided Ryan's arm so that he had no choice but to stand up and follow the captain. He towed Ryan to the end of the room.

The weathered agent narrowed his eyes at the young CSI. "I saw the way she looked at you. Do me a favor and take good care of her. She's been through hell and back." With that he walked away.

Stunned, Ryan looked at Stukes's back as he disappeared. He then walked back to the table.

"What did he say?" Emmie wanted to know.

The CSI shrugged. "Just told me to tell you goodbye. Sounds like you two go back a few years."

She smiled sadly at the memory. "We worked together in Quantico Operations. He actually introduced me to Dexter." She then looked behind her for a while. "But Stukes never asked me out. Dex did."

"I think he still kind of likes you."

Emmie sniffed. "Yeah, well, apparently not enough to tell me. I guess he expected me to read his mind. Besides, if he really missed me so much, how come he never called me after Dex died?"

Ryan gently scooped up her hand. "Well, did you get done whatever it is you had to do?"

She nodded sadly. "I think I'm gonna head home and go to sleep." She reached for the two twenties Stukes had left on the table, but Ryan immediately picked them up. "I'll take care of it."

Emmie then leaned her head on Ryan's shoulder. "Sorry, Ryan. I'm just so tired."

Ryan put an arm around her and kissed her head. "We had a busy night. I'll take you back to my place, and you can get a nap."

Without moving her head she looked up at him. "That wouldn't be a problem?"

"If it was a problem, I'd tell you" he insisted. "I love you, Emmie" he then whispered more softly.

Under better conditions the computer tech might have cried with happiness while hugging and kissing him. But she was too tired to react. "I love you too, Ryan."

He stood up and took her hand, leading her through the crowded lobby. "Let's get your stuff. You can follow me home. And Emmie?"

"I'm right here."

He squeezed her hand as the elevator doors shut behind them. "I'll never make you read my mind. I promise."

END


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